The World Has Moved On
by HalfBloodAlchemist-10
Summary: Two brothers find themselves in allegiance with a renegade mage to stop the cataclysmic events that could end all life as they know it.
1. Modern Crusaders

Title: The World Has Moved On (1/?)

Author: phar_ahkmenrah (halfblood alchemist)

Genre/Pairing: Dean/Castiel, AU

Rating: NC-17 (for strong sexual content, blood and gore, violence and language)

Spoilers: None (AU)

Wordcount: WIP

Warnings: This fic will be riddled with strong sexual scenes, violent deaths, torture, graphic imagery, and scary scenes. Far far future fic, modeled after "the Gunslinger" series by Stephen King. NOT A CROSSOVER! (Has similar concept as the Supernatural series, but different presentation. *Character parallels, concept parallel etc*)

Summary: _As a great author once said, too many years long since passed, "The world has moved on…"._ Two brothers find themselves travelling across the lands of a world that time forgot, travelling to avenge the destruction of their village, and the death of their family and friends. On their journey they discover their destiny lies in the secret profession of their late father and find their world turned upside down when they discover a dark force is threatening to destroy mankind. Left to stop this devastation from wiping out their whole world alone, they find allegiance in the unlikeliest of partners: a young, inexperienced mage, renegade from his clan and rebellious to their arrogant, narrow-minded ways. This rag-tag trio of heroes holds the fate of the world in their hands… if they can face the truth.

* * *

Chapter 1

The winds ripped across the yellow plains in waves, harvest wheat beckoning to the heavens as the waters of the Great Sea would greet its own patch of atmosphere high above its tempestuous surface. Above, a solitary eagle screeched as it dove down from the cloud dotted skies to the ground far below, its prey in sight as he came in for the kill. It was simply survival. Everything in this hard world depended on survival anymore. The idea of any worldly comforts was naught in this place. As a great author once said, too many years long since passed, "The world has moved on…"

The world had indeed moved on. Time hardly kept importance in a world where the only memories of a place long past, a "history" no one cared about, were of urban legends and myths. Legend had it that a great civilization thrived on these lands; where great buildings cast of steel and glass rose high into the skies; where horseless carriages powered by gaseous liquids carried their riders for miles without tire. A world where people lived in constant competition for papered currency, women and pride. Stories of fabled cities like Shikago, Nu Yeorck, Lowrenss and Myamee remained bedtime stories for children, and on occasion the tavern lurkers of each small village.

The stories of most interest to many were the stories of weaponry. In these days, the weapon of choice had always been the broadsword, but the recent discovery of one many called the crossbow was a huge innovation. However, the weapons of lore made these modern tools of defense seem less than suitable; machines that fired pieces of metal into the flesh of their enemies' being, explosive material, even something even the most imaginative of minds couldn't fathom: electric torture. Of course, people nowadays completely disregarded these so-called armaments with skepticism, concerning them as drunken or crazed rants from social outcasts. Technology to even dream up these things wasn't even fathomable.

But no matter, the stories continued and most likely would for far too many days to come. These myths had been passed down for years and always would be. They supposedly told of truth and history. No one listened. No one cared. No one believed in the ravings of lunatic old men. Eventually these insane beliefs would wear off, and normalcy would return. Besides, how could one believe in something so far-fetched without solid, physical proof? It would pass… eventually.

The sun was beginning to inch towards the cragged edges of the far off horizon, casting fantastic hues of auburn, orange, golden lights across the wind-whipped plains of the landscape. A coyote scavenged for scrapes to feed her offspring; the last of the day birds flitting across the shady skies to their nests for sleep. The night was beginning to settle into its routine, the nocturnal arriving in exchange for their daytime counterparts. Such scenes of natural phenomenon would have struck the average overseer as beautiful, but life out in the plains was anything but. Two brothers knew this well.

Said two brothers were currently watching this occurrence begin to manifest under the waning twilight as they set up camp. It had been many a night since the two had left the last village, and their lumpy Inn beddings. They had stayed for a few days, recovering from their last jaunt across the unforgiving landscape but now it was time to travel onward. They had a mission… a mission that had begun nearly twenty years prior. You see, these men were unlike any other that lived in this world… they were the last of their tribe, the only survivors from a mass genocide that had left their lives in shambles, their home and village burnt to the ground, all dead, including their mother and father. Having been ripped from the comforts of a "normal" life at such young ages and left to fend for their own sakes, the two brothers set off on their mission: avenge the deaths of their friends, their fellow villagers, and their parents Johnathan and Mary.

The brothers were bounty hunters. They used this guise as a cover for their true mission of revenge, and travelled the land in search of bounties to collect… and clues to their mission. Their cover worked well, for everyone knew the two famed hunters well but knew nothing of their past. But this didn't matter; there was no need, for even the mere mention of their names struck fear into the hearts of many law breakers. It was difficult to forget the names of Deanolo and Samuel Winchester.

Deanolo and Samuel were inseparable, harkening from their near-death experience of the village genocide. Deanolo, or Dean for short, was the elder of the two, 30 and 26 seasons old respectively. But no matter what, both watched out for the other, never leaving his side, and they would travel as such until they either succeeded or died while trying.

Dean spread the ground cloth before him before flopping to the hard earth in exhaustion. They had traveled long and hard that day, the sun brutal upon them. But just as he was about to slip into well deserved rest, he felt a gentle nudge on his side and he smiled, looking up at the perpetrator. A beautiful black horse snuffled his side affectionately, nickering softly to his master. "Aye Impala…" Dean cooed, rubbing his equine's nose lovingly. Impala whickered again, snuffing his hand. "Are you hungry?" Dean asked, reaching for the discarded saddlebag. He grabbed a handful of snacks for his horse, feeding them to the hungry beast before grabbing jerky and the whiskey flask for himself.

On the opposing side of the now flickering fire, Sam tended to his own horse, a palomino female that was much younger than the seasoned mustang of his brother's, but just as strong and powerful. Sam rubbed Jess' nose gently as the mare drank from a tin of water eagerly, smirking across the fire at his brother. "You realize that jerky will be the death of you, Dean…" he said in good jest, stoking the weak fire. Dean shrugged and took another hearty bite from the tough meat. "It's not as if we have much else to eat, Sam. We'll hunt in the morning. You can scavenge for your own nasty ground vegetation." He shot back, nevertheless passing the flask to his younger brother. Normally, they would refrain from drinking when resting out in the open, but they had traveled the less-than well beaten path. No one came out this far from the edges of the meager civilizations. The brothers felt that it was safe to indulge, and if things did get heated, Impala and Jess were more than capable of aiding in a retreat. Besides, there was a patch of thick forest not far off. If they had to, they'd take to the trees.

Dean leaned back against the hard ground, watching the stars pop up in the inky blackness of the open sky. It was surreal. A duel moon glowed off in the distance, one a mere echo of the other, stronger celestial orbiter. The gentle moonlight and flickering flames shone in his hazel eyes, as he blinked slowly, sleep beginning to take over. But just when he felt that he could drift off easily, a sudden sensation flared in the pit of his stomach and he sat up, looking around tensely. It felt as if someone…

"Dean?" Sam said, sitting up and watching his brother nervously. He knew a look like that could mean anything. Dean shook his head, looking around. He saw nothing to even perk his senses. "Nothing I… "he shook his head, smiling across at his brother. "Nothing. I think I just need some sleep, is all." He finished, lying back. Although the strongest of the sensations were gone, he still felt a lingering flicker in the back of his mind. Almost as if someone were watching them.

Shaking it off, Dean closed his eyes, letting the soft crackling of the flames and the deep breathing of his beloved horse, which lay curled around him, lull him into sleep.

Dean's senses had not betrayed him. Someone indeed was watching the brothers, hidden well in the edges of the dark forest not 30 yards away. Several someones, to be specific. The watchers kept their eyes on the men before deeming them harmless and setting off on their way. One individual, however remained behind, his eyes trained on the older of the two men. The breeze picked up slightly, fluttering his tan robe around his feet and his messy black hair, as he harried a step beyond the cover of the trees for a better look. Now cast in the light of the moon, the man's chiseled, handsome features stood out against the meager backdrop of the forest. He was a small, lithe man, sinewy muscles lined under smooth pale skin, bred for agile fighting rather than brawn. He wore a tan robe over black tunic and leggings, leather boots and gauntlets and a belt cinched at the waist. A sword hung at his side and a staff strapped over his back completed his ensemble. Icy blue eyes narrowed slightly as he contemplated the two men. The tattoo surrounding his right eye crinkled in concentration before he risked a glance over his shoulder. He wanted a better look at the men but…

No, the others were leaving as it were. He glanced over at the low fire again, before he felt something slip into his slack hand. It was another, smaller hand. He glanced down and saw the slender fingers entwined with his own, fingertips brushing against the edge of the gauntlet that reached to his knuckles. He smiled slightly, looking up at the woman that had taken his hand. Fire-red hair seemed to glow slightly in the moonlight, and she nodded to him, returning the smile. "Come, my love…" she said quietly to him, tugging his hand slightly.

The young man smiled, nodding to her. "Of course, Annahriel… I will join the group in a moment." Annahriel sighed, glancing out at the trees. "It is no wonder you have not been fully initiated into the clan, love. Your incessant curiosity and inability to pay attention will be the death of you." She spoke with authority, and the man nodded, looking apologetic. "I swear I will only be a moment longer…" he said, reassuring her. Annahriel sighed. "Hurry, then. We must return to the clan and prepare for your final initiation and our bonding ceremony." She finished, leaning up and kissing him slightly, before turning to join the others in their party.

The young man turned back to watch the fire for a moment longer, hoping that either of the brothers would stir. But his patience was not rewarded. Both men were indefinitely asleep, and he could not wait all night for one to wake. He made a mental not to return at a later time to see if they were still there. Perhaps he could investigate again the next day, after his trainings. Perhaps he could even meet them…

"Castiel!" Annahriel called, looking impatient. His time had grown short. The man, one named Castiel, cast one last glance to the fire before turning and joining the others. His heart felt slightly heavy at the thought that perhaps he would never know more about these strange men. But his heart and his loyalty lie with the clan and his betrothed, Annahriel. He could not let distractions get to him, as they always had before in any situation. It was true, Castiel was easily distracted, his curiosity winning out over concentration in his studies and training. But he was of age now, and he was to be initiated into the clan the very next day after his final training. Then would come the bonding ceremony. He smiled to his betrothed, claiming her hand in his as the group finally departed this portion of the forest.

Somewhere above them, a wood owl hooted in comfort to Castiel and he looked up at the creature smiling slightly. It was a good omen for the following days to come. His curiosity sated for the night, he rejoined his fellows to the clan, ready to take his tasks the following day with eagerness. It was time he became a true Enochian.


	2. Slaying the Wendigo

Chapter 2

Dean awoke the next morning to the smell of fresh meat cooking over the revived fire. His stomach gave a longing growl and he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He smiled across the way to his brother, as Sam cooked the poached pheasant over the happily roaring flames. Off in the distance, Impala and Jess munched field grass contentedly, nickering in surprise as a jack rabbit bolted from his burrow in surprise at the intrusion of noses from the two massive equines.

Dean smirked, sitting cross-legged before the fire as he reached across and grabbed a freshly cooked piece of meat from the small pile. The pickings were a bit slim; the pheasant had been rather small, but the brothers had lived off of less. This was nearly a banquet for them. "Any difficulty hunting the food without me?" Dean asked Sam, adding a hint of disappointment to his voice. He had missed out on the hunt itself.

Sam shrugged, cooking the last strips before adding them to the pile and taking his own helping. "Not much, actually. You didn't miss out on anything exciting. Besides you seemed to need the sleep. You were rather restless last night." Dean shrugged in response, chewing thoughtfully. Indeed, he had not slept as well the night before. The nagging presence of being watched had left him unable to sleep, but the feeling had passed eventually. After awhile, his sleep became more relaxed and he managed to slip deeper into slumber. He didn't mention this, however. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but his sleep became more thorough when the feeling had faded… but it hadn't gone away entirely.

"Just as well…" he muttered, taking a swig from the flask. He had just looked up to inquire about their current hunt, when he saw his younger brother pull a paper wrapped item out of a golden container. Sam screwed one end of the small paper cylinder into his mouth and leaned over the fire, lighting the end until it glowed ember. Satisfied, Sam leaned back and took a heavy drag, exhaling the smoke from his mouth. Normally, Dean wouldn't comment on the smoking of tobacco, but this was different. He watched in distaste as the scarlet stained smoke ebbed from between Sam's lips in a hearty exhale, the red vapor fading into the breeze. "Sam… I thought you agreed to quit." He muttered annoyed. Sam shrugged, taking another drag. Devil's Blood tobacco was the rarest to be found, and the most addictive. Damn that blonde wench… Ruby he believed her name was. They two had met the woman at a tavern in one of their past jaunts, and the girl had managed to worm her way into Sam's bed that night, and passed along the highly addictive tobacco to him. Clearly, Sam's obsession was still going strong.

"I'll quit when I run out…" the younger brother muttered, blushing slightly. Dean rolled his eyes, pulling his tunic on over his leggings and cinching the belt tightly around his waist. "You said that the last time, and I found you scavenging the fields for that weed…" he retorted, standing up. Clicking his tongue slightly, he summoned Impala, who came trotting over obediently. Running a hand through his horse's mane, he looked to his brother. "Be ready in ten minutes. Crowley is still at large out here."

Sam rolled his eyes, standing up. This wasn't the first time they had gone on a bounty for this infamous thief. "Fine, fine…" he muttered, standing up and packing his saddle bags, dousing the flames as he worked. As they prepared to depart Dean looked over his shoulder at Sam, mounting into the saddle easily. "I mean it Sam… if you do not throw those cigarettes away I will destroy them myself." And without another word, the two set off, leaving not a clue behind to their presence in the field.

* * *

"My boy…" a grey haired elder said contentedly, clapping a hand on Castiel's shoulder in good faith. "You're trainings have finally been completed. It is now time for your initiation hunt into the clan." The initiation hunt was a big event for all of the Enochians. Everyone gathered around the elder and the young man to see him off on his hunt. Castiel was stripped down to his black leggings and boots, sigils and war paint staining his pale skin in red hues. The black tattoo around his eye shone through the red paint strip over his eyes, and he held a ceremonial dagger in his fist. He flexed his lean arms, the paint seeping into every cut line on his skin. He was truly their finest warrior to be initiated.

"Indeed, Zachariah. I take my vows and set off to slay the Wendigo. I will return victorious… or not at all." He stated on reflex, his voice gravely in determination. The Wendigo he was to slay was the largest to be spotted in these lands, having slain many heavily armed hunters in the past. Castiel was to destroy the beast with his bare hands, armed with nothing but the dagger. Once the beast was slain he would remove the head and return to the clan and finally receive his "wings". The wings tattoo on his back would be a symbol of his status as a warrior of the clan, but the Enochican sigil that would be carved into the center of his chest would seal his powers forever. He shook with anticipation, ready to be on his way.

Annahriel smiled to her betrothed, kissing him before stepping back to join the others. "Godspeed, my love." She said, bowing her head slightly to him. The others gathered around him followed suit, giving him their blessing. Zachariah was last. He pressed a hand to the young man's chest, wishing him well before side stepping. Castiel nodded once, and made off into the thick trees, nary making a sound as he strode over the loose leaves.

Tracking the beast expertly, Castiel found his first clue… a massive footprint embedded into the loose mud of the forest floor. The foot easily spanned the width of his chest, and he swallowed slightly, steeling himself. The footprint was fresh, and from the sight of the newly torn-apart carcass of a doe, it was a ravenous beast. Castiel adjusted the grip on his dagger, and strode on, following the now bloody footprints of the Wendigo. Keen eyes scanned the thick trees as he went, adrenaline sharpening his senses. Every rustle, every movement kept him on edge, calm and strong as he had been trained for.

It did not take long before chaos soon ensued. Off to his right, the great beast roared, crashing through the trees in pursuit of a new victim. Castiel instantly tensed, his eyes widening. The hunt could not be disrupted! If the beast escaped and he was unsuccessful, he would return to the clan shamed and exiled from their presence. He could not let this happen. Whatever had irked the Wendigo was putting his way in jeopardy. Abandoning caution, Castiel darted through the trees nimbly, making straight for the beast. It was now or never. War cry ringing true, Castiel attacked.

* * *

It didn't take long for the Winchesters to pick up the trail of Crowley. He was a bumbling fool and left clues everywhere he went. After a short pursuit, the brothers had the thief cornered in the trees. The thick underbrush left them unable to bring the horses past the tree line so the hunt took longer than necessary, but they were satisfied. There was no way Crowley could escape.

"Ah boys it appears that we meet again. It's been too long." Crowley sniggered, crossing his arms. Dean raised his sword to his throat, sneering darkly at him. "Too long indeed. However I would have assumed that you learned your lesson, Crowley. Come quietly and we won't rough you up too much before we turn you over." Sam nodded, his crossbow notched and ready in case the thief tried anything. Crowley smiled, uncrossing his arms. "Oh but you don't want my help? It is a shame. I hear you boys are really on the lookout for something interesting…" he said vaguely, testing the waters. When he received a nervous response, he laughed, knowing he had them. "Indeed. You boys aren't what you appear to be are you? Looking for something special… or someone. Several someones, ne?"

Dean glared, jabbing the end of his sword into his chest. "Fuck you, Crowley." He retorted, and the thief laughed. "Oh what a shame, I would have been more than glad to assist you. But if you really don't want my help, I suppose no deal's no deal. However, I don't appreciate you tone with me, and your terribly crude behavior. Perhaps you wish to speak with my associate?"

Sam lowered the crossbow slightly, looking at him skeptically. "Associate? What's the meaning of this Crowley?" The thief shrugged, looking up at the much larger man. "Nothing of great importance… but alas I fear my time is short. Enjoy your romp in the woods with my good friend." He said, disappearing unnaturally quickly. It barely gave Dean and Sam time to register what had happened before an inhuman growl ripped through the trees. The brothers whipped around in time to see a massive beast tearing through the trees like paper, charging the two of them. "WENDIGO!" Sam yelled, darting off to the side as the brothers split. The beast lunged at them, ready to rip limbs from bodies, blood thirsty. It unleashed another howl, swinging its massive arms about in hopes to capture one of the two intruders in its territory.

Dean met up with Sam again, the two panting heavily under the cover of some loose brush. "Shit… this is the biggest I've ever encountered!" Dean gasped, gripping the sword tightly. Sam nodded mutely, trying to think of an escape route. None came to mind. "He's blocking our path… we'll have to fight our way through." He said unhelpfully. Dean gave him a look of disgust, but their revere was cut short, when the beast ganged through the underbrush, sending them on another mad scatter to flee the monster. A wise man knows when to run, Dean thought to himself, leaping a log in escape. A familiar cry for help caught him and he whipped around in time to see the massive creature slam a huge fist into his brother's chest, sending the man careening through the trees and skirting across the leave strewn ground.

"SAM!" Dean yelled, darting back into the fray. He raised his sword to strike the beast, knowing this could be their last fight if his aim was not true. However, before he could even move to bring the sword down on the beast, another cry filled the air, this time confident, powerful. Dean whipped around, half expecting another beast to join its comrade but instead a small blur launched itself at the beast, leaping into the air and onto the creature's back. Dean stood stock still, staring in shock. It was a man… a young man who couldn't have been more than half of Dean's weight. Flashes of red body paint caught his eye, as the young man clambered up the back of the confused Wendigo, plunging the blade of a dagger into the back of its neck.

The Wendigo roared in pain, slashing at its own back in retaliation. The massive claws found purchase on the attacker's chest, sending him flying from its presence. Dean took this momentary lapse of concentration off of himself to tend to his brother. "Sam! Sam look at me!" he called shaking him slightly. Sam groaned, sitting up with a hand clasped to side of his head. A few bruises and a nasty headache were all Dean would have to worry about on his younger brother and he sighed in relief. "Sam… you're not going to believe this. There's a half-naked man attacking the Wendigo with a dagger." He said, helping the younger Winchester to his feet. Sam stared at him for a moment before quirking an eyebrow. "Not two of us suffering the same head trauma…" he said skeptically. Dean shook his head, gripping Sam's chin and directing his attention to the fight before them. Sam's jaw fell open at the sight. "Hell…"

The fight was in full swing at this point. The Wendigo and man rounded on each other, staring the other down. The man crouched low to the ground, the bloody dagger gripped tightly in his hand. His chest heaved forth a surge of blood from the slash marks, yet he did not seem fazed by this. The Wendigo extracted its claws again, gnashing its gory maw at the youth. With a trumpeting roar, the beast charged first. This was exactly what the attacker wanted. When the beast was merely feet away, the man leapt into the air, his boot connecting with the massive jaw, throwing the beast off kilter. Using his own body momentum, the man rappelled off the nearest tree, launching himself at the Wendigo.

Tackling the monster to the ground, they grappled hard, the huge beast somehow failing to overpower the small, lithe man underneath him. An agonized roar later signed that the dagger had plunged directly into its heart. Tearing flesh, dripping blood stained the youth underneath it, nearly being crushed to death by the massive weight of the beast. Yet he pressed on. Now that the beast was weakened and on its last edge, the man wormed his way from beneath the creature and clambered up its back again.

With weaker movements, the Wendigo tried again to dislodge the pest from its hairy back, but he would be having none of that. The man hung on for dear life, plunging the dagger directly through the left cornea of the beast. There was a pop, a squelch and a shriek of agony from the beast as it clawed at its now empty eye socket, flailing desperately as the blood flowed. It seemed that the fight would be over soon. However, this confidence proved wrong as the monster managed to get a hold of the man's leg and ripped him from its back, throwing him hard against a tree. There was a crunch of bones, and from what Dean could see, the man's ribs received a nasty crack. The clawed hands of the beast tried to crush the man, but it was losing blood fast and growing weak.

It took minimal struggling before the man was able to free himself and leapt nimbly away from the creature. It staggered after him, but soon dropped to its knees, growing disoriented, weak, blood staining the light fur a dark ominous red. Silence filled the clearing; the only sounds to be heard were the panting, desperate breaths of the beast.

The man stepped forward, bloody dagger in hand. He observed the beast for a moment before striking the finishing blow, the golden blade searing through the Wendigo's throat. Blood gurgled forth as the beast finally met its doom. Pitching forward, the forest floor shook with the impact of the fall. It was over. The beast was slain, the youth victorious.

Dean gaped at the results of the fight. He had not expected the man to walk from this fight at all, let alone slay the Wendigo. It was their own personal story of David and Goliath, and had Dean not seen the fight for himself, he would have scoffed at the idea. He glanced at Sam, who nodded, his eyes wide as they inched into the clearing. The man was obviously a killing machine, and if necessary, the brothers wanted to be ready in case their personal savior turned on them.

Dean paused mid-step, his eyes trained on the hunched over form of the young man. He was kneeling on the ground near the head of the Wendigo, and he was… praying? Dean stepped closer and sure enough his suspicions were confirmed. The man's head was bowed slightly to the fallen creature, victor praying for the death of the failure. After his silent vigil was complete, the man grabbed the dagger again and began sawing through the massive neck of the beast casually. Dean grimaced, feeling slightly nauseated by the sight of the young man, blood drenching his arms up to his elbows as he hacked the head off of the beast. Sinewy tendons snapped audibly as muscle was severed, the man's face resolute in his actions.

Finally, as the head came clean after minute struggling to saw through the bone of the neck, Dean cleared his throat, catching the newcomer's attention. "Hey… we… my brother and I wanted to thank you for saving us. I mean if you hadn't come along, we would have been done for." He said as the youth stood and turned to face him. Dean's heart jolted slightly in his chest. The man had the most intense blue eyes he ever saw, the icy, cerulean depths capturing him and pulling him in. Dean felt that same sensation in his chest that he had felt the night before while he slept by the fire, and he swallowed hard, staring at the younger man. The black tattoo and the red facial tattoo crinkled in confusion as he contemplated the stranger before him, cocking his head to the side in innocent confusion.

Dean's eyes roamed the man's body. He was completely shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of tunic trousers and leather boots. The sigils that were drawn into his skin blurred with the fresh bouts of blood coursing from the slash marks, and a nasty bruise was spreading across the width of his ribs and stomach from where the monster had tried to crush him against the tree. The hand that held the dagger was also bruised but his grip was firm and true. He rolled his shoulder slightly, staring at Dean for a moment with such intensity it made Dean falter. Finally the hunter cleared his throat, looking back up into the eyes of the man before him. "W-who are you?"

The young savior blinked slightly as if he didn't understand. Sam leaned over and whispered to Dean, "Perhaps he does not speak the High Language?" However, his trepidation was proven wrong as the man looked at him with that same intense gaze, eyes boring into his. "Indeed I understand the High Tongues. My people are well versed in your culture." Dean gaped slightly. The man's voice was low and gravely, sending a shock to his stomach. The man nodded, looking back into Dean's jade eyes. "I am Castiel, mage of the Enochians. You had disrupted my initiation hunt." He said bluntly, almost accusingly. Dean frowned, staring at him. "Initiation hunt?"

Castiel nodded, his features softening slightly. "Yes. It is my final test before being fully initiated into the warrior class. But it is no matter. My hunt is complete and I was victorious." Sam gaped at him, his eyes dancing with excitement. "Enochians? I feared that they were merely myth. Hardly anyone knows of your clan!" he said animatedly. Castiel nodded to him, a smile on his lips that seemed nearly out of place, yet Dean couldn't pull his gaze away. "Indeed we are as much alive and as you have most likely heard of us. But I fear you have not properly introduced yourselves."

Dean straightened up, looking proud. "You may have heard of us as well. We are Deanolo and Samuel Winchester, famed bounty hunters." Sam rolled his eyes at Dean's obvious pride, but smirked knowingly when Castiel merely gave him a confused look. "I fear I know nothing of you…" he said. Dean frowned, looking a bit deflated. "You have not? We were on the tracks of a thief that had escaped us before the Wendigo attacked. Perhaps you saw him depart as we were attacked?"

Castiel shook his head, hiding a dawning realization behind a resolute face. These were the men he had seen the night before! He silently prayed thanks for his opportunity to meet them finally. His curiosity had nearly gotten the better of him; lest he not be prepared for such an important hunt the following day. "Unfortunately I do not know of anyone fleeing this part of the forest." He went silent for a moment, looking back at the decapitated Wendigo. "… perhaps you wish to join me? I see that your brother here is interested in our culture and we are accommodating people." He said over his shoulder, hefting the massive head as if it were nothing short of feathers.

Dean swallowed again. The young man was very strong, his body sculpted perfectly for fighting. He shook himself slightly, running the thoughts from his mind as he heard an excited noise from his younger brother. "I suppose it would do us no harm. Perhaps we may learn more of…" he faltered slightly, feeling a jab in the side of his ribs from his much larger, younger brother. "… of the escapee." He said catching his near slip up. Castiel looked up, hearing the falter and he gave them a suspicious look. "Very well. Follow me." He said and without another word, set off into the trees.

Sam grabbed his brother's elbow, glaring at him. "Do you find it wise to nearly give away our true mission, brother?" Dean looked apologetic, clearing his throat. The man's eyes had nearly undone him, and he found himself gazing at his retreating form. "I apologize, Sam. Come he will leave us behind if we do not follow, and I dare not remain out here lest others like that come and find us." He said, patting his brother on the shoulder. He saw the nervous glance over his shoulder and gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Impala and Jess will be fine. They will fend for themselves until we find what we are looking for." He said guiding him to follow the young savior. Despite the blood staining his frame, the sunlight cast light upon him in such a way, Dean could not shake the feeling of something far more ethereal.


	3. A Warrior Made

Chapter 3

It didn't take long before the three of them made it back to the clan. Sam and Dean kept slight distance behind the mage, unsure if their presence would be welcomed by the Enochians. However, Castiel's confidence seemed to spur them on, and they followed almost obediently, eyeing their surroundings. This portion of the forest was unlike the rest, as habitations began to form, blending into the scenery perfectly. Dean was impressed. Had he not been following one of their own and had been a mere passer-by, he would have missed these dwellings completely. It was ingenious the way they had built the habitations into their surroundings for perfect camouflage.

However, he noticed as they went on their way, that the homes became more elaborate. He assumed that these belonged to those of greater status, admiring the artwork carved into the sides of the homes. It was truly a beautiful place, and he could see how Sam's interest had been piqued by the very idea of actually meeting the Enochians of lore. Dean smirked slightly, his eyes trained to the back of the man before them. _One step ahead of the game as always_ he thought to himself, following the mage into the large clearing amongst the rune-scribed buildings about them.

Smiling broadly, Castiel strode into the main grounds, holding the Wendigo head aloft. A cheer roared to life from the Enochians as they gathered around the victor, taking the head as sacrifice, and guiding Castiel to the head of the forested village. Dean and Sam watched, fascinated as they took the warrior to the elders' home, the three leaders gathered before the thronging inhabitants. Two of the men were dressed similarly, wearing flowing robes in rich hues, but the third one was the most intriguing. He wore a black veil that completely covered his face and head, and he wore an all black robe. The veiled elder extended a hand to the victorious warrior; his knuckles turned upwards as Castiel took his hand and kissed them respectfully, kneeling before him.

The elder to the right of the veiled man stepped forward, nodding his silvery head to the youth. "Castiel, you have indeed returned to us successful. You're initiation shall be completed, as granted." He said, motioning to a hand servant. As the young boy stepped forward, he handed a pot of ink and a sharp instrument to him before stepping back, his head bowed from the sight of the veiled man.

Dean leaned over to his brother, whispering heatedly, "You are the expert on these matters, Sam. What is going on? Who are those men, and why is one veiled as such?" He looked up, watching as the other robed elder stepped forward. He appeared much younger than the silver-haired mage, but still many years Castiel's senior.

Sam watched the event for a moment, before leaning over and hissing back to him. "Those are the main elders. The one in the middle is the head of the entire clan, "The Father" as they call him. No one is allowed to look upon The Father. No one knows what his face looks like or what is true name is. The Father is chosen from birth and hidden away, well versed in his trainings to run the clan better than the previous. The other two are lower ranking elders. They will never reach the status of The Father, but they are his right hand servants. I do not know what their names are." He added apologetically.

Dean waved off his apology, smiling. "No, it is suitable." He paused, watching the two elders lead Castiel over to a great stone slab and stood him before the altar. The hand servant was summoned once again, and he stepped forward, holding a bowl of purified water and a soft rag in his hands. He bowed to the new warrior-mage before proceeding to cleanse the wound and wash the dirt, blood and paint away from his skin. Dean swallowed slightly at the sight, his confusion over his emotions getting the better of him. He finally suppressed them enough to pay attention to the proceedings before the main alter, not wanting to miss a moment of… whatever was happening.

When he was finished, the hand servant laid Castiel across the cold, rough surface on his stomach, his arms stretched on either side of him in a reverse crucifix position. Dean frowned again, watching as the boy stepped back from the altar, and the younger elder took his place, holding the ink jar and metal rod in his hand. "What's he going to do to Cas?" he hissed to Sam, not catching the slip of his tongue as he stared hard at the sight.

Sam gave his elder brother a look of utter confusion, blinking slowly at his choice of wording. "I do not know, Dean. Most rituals and cultures of the Enochians are well hidden from the outside world." He responded, looking back at the sight.

A set of hands clasped heavily to their shoulders jarred them out of their trance, the two brothers jumping simultaneously as a low voice broke through to them. "They are giving him his final rites, and completing his initiation into our elites by tattooing his symbol into his back." The deep voice rumbled from behind them. Both brothers turned to see a man with incredibly dark skin, looking smugly at the two. "Castiel is receiving his wings." He added, pointing over their shoulders at the altar.

Dean and Sam both turned to see the dark haired elder stand over the prone figure on the altar, dipping the end of the sharp instrument into the ink pot. He began etching the designs into the pale flesh of the young warriors back. The Father and Zachariah looked on, their hands crossed before them in silent reverence. Dean looked over his shoulder back at the dark skinned Enochian, his face a mask of confusion. "Who is that? And what exactly is he doing?" he asked, gesturing to the man tattooing Castiel's back.

The dark mage, who introduced himself as Uriel, motioned to the altar again with a vague motion of his hand. "That is Michael. Besides The Father, Michael holds the most power in our community. Zachariah even must answer to his word." He smirked, staring at Dean for a moment before continuing. "He is tattooing his wings into his flesh. Every high warrior of our clan has the wings; myself included."

Dean looked incredibly intrigued by this revelation, and he turned back to the sight, smirking. "Very interesting…" he muttered, his eyes trained on the stoic face of the young man lying on his stomach. Castiel's eyes were closed, a look of peace on his face as Michael carved the wings into his back, inking them into his being permanently.

Sam, however, still looked far more curious about the other aspects of Enochian life and turned back to Uriel. "Can you tell us more about your culture?" he asked, hopefully. He glanced at Dean for a moment, frowning to see such a look of concentration on his elder brother's face as he watched the events at the altar.

Uriel hesitated, eyes narrowing slightly at the two brothers. "… it is not my place to reveal our secrets to strangers. If you wish to know more about our world, you must ask the Elders to elaborate. I cannot appease your wishes." He finished rather coldly, turning from them and joining the others in their observation of the tattooing ceremony.

Sam frowned, brow furrowed at his brother at the sudden defensiveness of Uriel. It was a strange change of mood, but they were not willing to press. After all, they were strangers in their territory. If one citizen felt uncomfortable divulging this information, who were they to blame him? Sam had just opened his mouth to speak to Dean, when he noticed that he was making his way closer to the altar. Alarm bells rang in the back of Sam's mind and he surged forward, ready to halt his brother's tracks. "Dean!" he hissed, following him. "Dean, I highly doubt it is proper for you to impose your presence on this ceremony!" When he didn't respond, Sam growled slightly. "Deanolo! We don't belong here; you need to get back here!"

Again, his pleas went unheeded, and Sam sighed throwing his hands up in defeat. If Dean wanted a closer look and possibly disrupt the ceremony, he wanted nothing to do with the consequences. To hell with older brothers, he thought to himself inching back into the crowd for cover.

Dean finally wound his way through the crowd, drawing spiteful eyes to his presence as he so boldly approached the sacred altar, seemingly having absolutely no regard for such a holy ceremony. Dean crossed his arms over his chest, the sword hanging at his side clicking slightly against the stone steps where he stood. Eyes roamed the moving hands, the sharp instrument, the ink pot, and finally to the serene face of the young warrior. As his eyes remained glued to his sharp features, he hardly noticed the woman that strode past him, up the stairs and approach the altar.

It was only then did he notice the young red-headed woman as she stood next to the altar, holding what appeared to be a circular brand in her hands. She was beautiful, and he briefly wondered if they were related. Their vaguely similar features confirmed his thoughts, but the gentle touches to his shoulder on her part drove another thought into his mind. From the way she smiled down at the young warrior, the expression spoke volumes: they were a couple. Dean swallowed slightly, his eyes leaving the young woman's soft features and settling on what he had come to believe as his personal guardian since the fight in the woods.

Castiel smiled slightly, hearing Michael's words float over him as he felt the sharp blade pierce his back in shallow thrusts, inking his status into his flesh. The approach of one being calmed any sort of irritation he had felt from the sharp pains of the large needle. Castiel felt the strong aura draw gradually closer, intimate, nearly soul-searing warmth from the approach of this sensation that eased his mind and body, and he gave himself over entirely to the process. After a few moments, a hand touched his shoulder, and he opened his eyes, the sensation faltering slightly. His gaze met that of Annahriel, and he smiled up to her, nodding his head once, before turning his attention back forward.

There he was; the man he had saved earlier. Castiel stared at him for a moment before smiling slightly to him. With a nod of his head, he closed his eyes to him, slipping back into that comfortable, warm embrace of the aura. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, Michael ran a hand over Castiel's back, wiping away any blood spots from the process and bade him rise. Castiel stood, turning to face the crowds before him. Michael motioned to Annahriel, who stepped forward, holding the circular brand in her hands.

Dean caught a better glimpse of the heavy metal object. It was inlaid with an intricate design he couldn't discern. He supposed it was an Enochian symbol of some sorts, wondering what it could be for. It wasn't long before he received his answer. Zachariah stepped forward next, holding another well of ink, and motioning to the hand servant. The young boy stepped forward, pushing what appeared to be a platform fire pit before him on a strange wheeled table. Dean stared at the set up, confused, but eager murmurs around him stilled his contemplation, and he merely waited to see what would happen next.

"Your final rite, Castiel. Your brand, forged specifically for your make up, your abilities and strength, shall be seared to your body, forever locking your powers to your being; to your soul." Zachariah said enthusiastically, raising his hands. The crowd once again burst to life, cheering as Castiel stepped towards the fire pit, nodding his head.

"I fully accept. My bond to the tribe, to The Father is unyielding. I am a servant, and soldier to his will. With this seal, I belong to the Faith." Castiel responded, looking determined. Annahriel took her cue and stepped forward, placing the brand into the fire. Zachariah then pour the ink into the fire, creating a molten hot roué within the coals that miraculously did not extinguish the flames.

Dean's eyes widened at the sight. He knew what they were going to do next, and his eyes shot to the far too stoic expression on Castiel's face. He had just opened his mouth to protest, when he saw the woman reach into the fire with a pair of tongs, and lift the now glowing, inked metal. "By your bond, joined by the presence of your true mate, you soul is forever marked by the will and power of the Faith." She said quietly, pressing the white hot design of the inked metal into Castiel's chest, squarely centered.

Castiel made no indication that he had even felt the hot burn of the metal as it seared into his skin, forever burning the ink into his being. When the hot brand came away, it was immediately destroyed as Annahriel pressed a soothing balm to his chest, working away the red tint from his abused flesh. The balm did nothing to smear the ink seared into his skin. Castiel smiled down to Annahriel as she wrapped a bandage gently around his chest. "Thank you, love…" he said, leaning a kiss to her lips slightly before turning and raising a hand triumphantly to the crowd as they broke into another bout of cheers.

Dean smiled at the success of the young warrior, applauding as well as Castiel lead the young woman down the stairs and over to him. "Congratulations, Castiel." He said sincerely, subconsciously ignoring the hand around the woman's waist. "And who is this lovely dove that you have graced my person with?" he asked, sending the red-head a striking smile.

Castiel smiled, nodding to her. "This is Annahriel. She is to be my bonded mate when it comes time for our ceremony. After his final initiation, every warrior is bonded with his compatible partner. Partners are born into this perfect soul pairing, and normally this match happens within the family." At Dean's puzzled look, Castiel continued, unsure of his reasoning to blush. "She is my cousin."

Dean balked inwardly at the revelation, but didn't press the matter. If the Enochians did things differently, then he had no right to judge them. Instead, he took her hand in his and chivalrously kissed her knuckles, bowing slightly to her. "Madam…" he said, courteously.

Annahriel smiled and nodded to him. "Castiel tells me he found you and your brother within our outer borders. Lost, I see?" she asked, smiling kindly to him. The members of the community were beginning to file out of the village center and back to their daily duties, leaving the small group to themselves within the village square.

Dean gave the young woman a perplexed look, blinking slowly as he processed the words. Lost? She must have gotten it wrong. He was just about to correct her when he saw Castiel's eyes widen slightly. The newly forged mage leaned back slightly out of Annahriel's peripheral and shook his head vigorously, mouth a thin line. Dean blinked again, staring before realization kicked in. Castiel had purposefully not divulged the hunt to anyone yet, for some reason. He nodded once when he saw Castiel mouth the words, "I will tell you later."

"Yes, indeed. My brother and I stumbled upon these woods and became lost within. It was only a miracle that your fiancé had found us when he did." Dean replied, weighing his words carefully. He wasn't sure if he should say anything about the Wendigo at all and simply left it at that.

Annahriel smiled. "Well you are welcome here within our humble home, Deanolo. I hear that your brother Samuel is quite intrigued by our culture. Zachariah will be honored to give you both the grand tour… unless Castiel wishes to show his new friends around our land." She added, smirking up at her betrothed.

Castiel opened his mouth to decline; his ears stained a light pink, when Dean spoke for him.

"Of course, that would be wise indeed. After all, we are familiar with him, and now you as well. But I realize that the bonding ceremony is mere days away, and you must be eager to finish the preparations. I will take Castiel off of your hands for awhile, Annahriel." Dean smiled, winking at Castiel. Again, the mage blushed slightly, but instead of embarrassment, he looked rather relieved.

Annahriel nodded, and turned to her fiancé. "I shall be with Elder Raphael and his wife if you are in need of me, love." She said, kissing him before turning and walking away in a swish of luxurious velvet.

Castiel turned back to Dean, scratching the back of his neck. "I will be frank you have saved me in return. Preparations for the bonding ceremony are quite tedious, and I was not looking forward to spending my last days as a bachelor within the throes of preparing for this event."

Dean laughed outright, clapping a hand to Castiel's shoulder. "Anything for a friend, Cas. Now would you be so kind as to explain to me why you did not tell Annahriel about the Wendigo attack?" he asked, the two walking through the village square.

Castiel paused for a moment, taking his time in pulling his tunic and beige robe on. When he cinched the belt about his waist, he looked up at Dean with a smirk, buckling the gauntlets onto his forearms. "Technically the hunt was still disrupted. Another individual was involved in what was supposed to be a one-on-one fight. But since you and your brother did not assist me in slaughtering the beast, I will call technicalities as they are. The hunt was completed successfully by my own hand and doing, and you two were not injured, besides that bump on Samuel's head. I meant to ask, is he well?"

Dean nodded in understanding and confirmation, the two setting off into the village. "He will be fine, actually. The beast must have landed the blow by accident, for he was not seriously damaged,; as I am sure the Wendigo was fully capable of inflicting grave wounds upon him, he came out relatively unscathed. Now," he said, stopping the young mage. "Tell me more about yourself, Cas. Your cultures, and this eh… bonding ceremony seem rather fascinating."

Castiel smiled up at Dean, crossing his arms over his chest. "And that is another detail I failed to mention earlier. This would be the second time you have called me 'Cas' to my face. Is my full name difficult to pronounce for you plains dwellers?" he taunted, jibbing the larger man in the ribs.

Dean shrugged, looking unperturbed. "Oh it is quite easy to pronounce. I just have this terrible habit of bestowing nicknames upon my companions." He added at the end, his jade eyes flickering with a hint of mischief.

"So I am your companion now? After one day of knowing you?" Cas inquired, raising a dark eyebrow at him. The dark tattoo around his right eye shone in the sunlight, drawing Dean's attention to his pale blue eyes and fair skin. The mage waited patiently as Dean cleared his throat.

Dean chuckled. "As a matter of fact, I make friends quite easily. Being a plains dweller simply makes long-term relationships with any one person difficult, what with our nomadic tendencies. But yes… you are my companion. Is that a problem?" he retaliated, looking smug.

Cas shook his head, his unkempt hair falling around his face with a natural grace. "Not at all. It is simply my first time in dealing with the strange habits of one such as yourself."

With a hearty sigh of content, Dean slung his arm around the mage's shoulders, guiding him as he walked. "So then if that is the case, do tell me more of yourself. Of this ceremony you will be tying yourself down to for the rest of your days. Of Enochian magic. Despite my rugged exterior, I am actually quite intrigued."

Castiel, or Cas, smiled and looked down at the ground, choosing his words. "Since you persuade so convincingly, I will tell you, Dean. Many years ago, the Enochians came into existence when mages of ancient times found a new source of magic. This magic came to be known as the Faith…"

* * *

Zachariah leaned against the carved oak table, sipping languidly from his goblet. He smiled over to Raphael, and Annahriel, the three of them gathered within the mother house of the village. "The two strangers, I see have taken a shine to our village already…" the eldest in the room muttered, thumbing the rim of his goblet slowly.

Annahriel nodded, stepping forward. "The eldest brother seems quite taken with Castiel. In fact, he even called for a private tour of our village and culture, just before Castiel was to join me in our preparations." She looked a bit flustered at this, chewing her lower lip with mild contempt.

"The younger sibling seems just as enthralled with us as the elder brother, although I do not see his selective interest on one particular person." Uriel added, stepping into the room, and closing the door behind him. All gathered nodded, looking to Zachariah for confirmation.

The eldest Enochian sighed, setting his goblet down with a clink of heavy metal. "I do not think it wise to reveal too much to these two… two strangers show up in the middle of a great initiation process, seemingly lost? It seems much to suspicious to me. Whatever their plan is, it must be stopped."

Before the others could murmur their agreement, the door blew open again, and in stepped Michael and The Father. All in the room dropped to their knees in reverence, but their show of subservience went unnoticed, as Michael guided The Father to the high backed chair.

When the old man sat, he crossed his hands quietly in his lap, murmuring something to Michael, who bent and listened intently. When he had finished, Michael stood erect, looking to each of them in the room.

"The Father has spoken. These men are Deanolo and Samuel Winchester." At this revelation, all in the room began to talk at once, surging forth for more information. Michael raised his hands in silence to them, looking around at their stern faces. "They are not to be touched. Give them what they seek, for they have great things in store for them… and it concerns our wellbeing. Give them three days, then when they are well understood in our culture, then we will speak to them of their destiny. Go now. Leave our presence at once." And without another word, Michael shooed the four out of the room, slamming the heavy doors behind them.

Annahriel looked put-out by this news. "Three days? But the ceremony is in three days; I refuse to have them ruin this event!"

Raphael put a hand to her shoulder, comforting her. "Annahriel, your day will not be spoiled by these strangers, I assure you of this. We will simply have to accommodate them until they are sent on their way." When he received a grateful nod, he smiled and returned his attention to the conversation.

Zachariah already appeared deep in thought at the turn of events. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, weighing the options. Finally, he smiled and returned his attention to the others, smiling almost darkly. "Be about your business. In the meantime, let the brothers know what they will, but do not divulge the knowledge that you know of them. Placate both the Winchesters and The Father. In three days time, we will act." At this final note, Zachariah spun on his heel and left the group behind in the halls of the mother house. Three days would not pass soon enough.


	4. Flight from the Forest

Chapter 4

The sun raised high over the plains, basking the golden grains an ominous red hue. Nary had a bird call broken the unnatural silence that befell the landscape; the wind beat a slow breath across the prairie grass, as finally the eerie silence was broken by the sound of foot falls. A marauding group of travelers broke through the landscape, bloody sunlight staining their already pale features a washed out tint and where they tread, the landscape fell back into a nearly deafening silence.

Even the very earth knew when to fear, for the group that passed was unlike any other. Nomadic, pillaging; these were no mere travelers, for they too possessed a sort of magic to rival that of their counterparts, their enemies.

Everyone in the land knew of these people; the very mention of their names struck a chord of terror through the hearts of even the bravest of individuals for they were a dreaded foe indeed. Many believe them to be a terror story to tell disobedient children; and even those that managed to successfully encounter these people barely lived long enough to tell of their terrifying encounter before strange, horrifying deaths befell them, curses ravaging the landscapes, unimaginable terrors abounding.

No one lived long when they encountered the Daemons.

Now, as the dark mages traversed the countryside their leader, a tall blonde man with piercing eyes, paused mid-step, eyes of ice scanning the bloody horizon curiously. His followers also stopped, looking to their leader for confirmation. Minutes passed, and still the head of the Daemons did not move, his gazed fixed on the brightening sky before them.

After a moment one of his followers stepped forward, addressing their leader. "My Lord, what troubles you so?" he inquired, twirling a long knife in his hands impatiently. It was rare to see their self-proclaimed "god" figure look so… indecisive.

The blonde man raised a hand, steadying the twirling blade with a simple touch. "Peace, Alistair. There is no reason to fret." He replied finally, his voice a soothing tone. He turned to face the Daemon by his side, looking almost smugly at him.

Dropping his grip from Alistair's wrist, the blonde man turned to the others, raising his hands to silence the murmuring crowd. "Rest well; it has been a long night of traveling." Upon seeing the skeptical looks on his followers faces, he smiled, ice blue eyes flashing in the growing sunlight. "Do not fear, for our journey is not in vain."

"What is the meaning of this, Lucifer?" one Daemon shouted, rallying a cloud of murmurs from the others.

Lucifer nodded to him, unsheathing his sword and etching lazy lines into the dirt before him. "We have found our destination at last…" he replied simply, gesturing over his shoulder. Eyes strained to see what their ruler had spied and sure enough, keen eyes caught the nearly indiscernible shape of a far off quarry, eroded by years of disuse yet seeming to beacon to the travelling mages of darkness. An eager cry rose up from those gathered as they laid eyes upon their final destination. It had been many long weeks of hard travel to find this particular quarry, for within its shale and sandstone walls lay there most-sought after prize… dominance and defeat over the despised Enochians. They had great plans to conquer them, and if the people of this sad, little world perished in the crossfire, they were of no importance to them. What were a few casualties?

Lucifer smiled at the sight of his faithful followers looking so jubilant. He sighed, sheathing his sword and turning to stare off into the brightened horizon, the edges stained a light blue as the sun climbed higher into the clouds. A sudden sensation filled his being and he turned, staring into the direction the pulse came from. It was strong… very strong. Suddenly the king Daemon laughed outright, crossing his arms over his broad chest with a nod. So it was true… the prophecy would come to pass after all. How exciting! He knew it was just a matter of time, but the wheel had been set into motion the very moment Lucifer obtained the quarries. It was too perfect. Now all he had to do was wait for his plan to fall directly into his lap. Too perfect.

* * *

The days passed in a flurry of events as the brothers were welcomed into the society that they had unwittingly fallen upon. Sam found solace in the extensive libraries of the Enochians while hardly seeing much of his older brother since their arrival. He smiled to himself as he poured over an ancient tome, thinking of the events of the past several days.

It was rare to see Dean and Castiel separated for more than an hour at a time. It could easily be said that the two had taken a shining to the other, and Castiel seemed rather watchful of the elder brother. Dean, in particular, turned out to be possessive of the mage, and his temper took a turn whenever Cas was called away by his fiancé to assist in preparing for the events of the bonding ceremony. But when confronted about this, Dean simply banished the thoughts with a shrug.

"You think foolishly, Sam. There are no hard feelings to this event." Dean would reply casually. After the third questioning, however, Dean's answer took on a suspicious intonation. "You speak strangely of my emotions, Samuel. What are you thinking?"

Sam had then replied with his own admittance of flippancy, returning his gaze to the book in his lap. "I merely asked, Dean. There is no reason to become so defensive… unless there is reason to feel such." He added slyly.

Dean stiffened, but regained his composure. "There is none." He answered shortly, rising to his feet and striding from the room with a sense of lost purpose.

Sam smiled, remembering that little encounter. It seemed that Dean had indeed taken a shining to the mage, but both knew it would be futile to pursue any further attachment between the two. They would be leaving in mere hours, after the final rites of Castiel and Annahriel's bonding ceremony. Castiel had specifically requested that they remain in the village until after the bonding ceremony. He had made mention that it would be rude to leave before such a large event and the others in the community would take it as an offence. But Sam had an idea that it was mostly because of Dean. He couldn't blame him, although it didn't make the impending hours any easier.

Both brothers had agreed to leave the Enochian culture behind without a glance back, taking minimal information with them. Such a sacred culture needed not to be exposed to the selfishness and naivety of human civilization. They weren't worthy of such revelations. However, this didn't change the disappointment both felt at having to leave behind such an amazing world to continue their secret quest.

Sam sighed, closing the tome and setting it on the carved oak table next to his chair. He stood and stretched his back before making his way from the private library and outside. The younger Winchester made a beeline for the stables, a small smile beginning at the corners of his mouth.

Impala and Jess had been fetched the day they were welcomed even temporarily into the community and were given the best care the equines had received in a long time. The Enochians proved they were skilled horsemen and nursed the two beasts with tenderness that even Samuel envied. He strode into the stables and clicked his tongue quietly; immediately two horses poked their heads over the wooden gates barring them to their respective stalls.

Jess nickered happily to see her master, tossing her head impatiently. Sam smiled and ran his fingers gently through her yellowed mane, untangling a wayward strand before pressing a kiss to her blaze. "I indeed missed you as well, Jess. There is no fear, though. We will be back on the way soon; I know how eager you are to be on the open range. You too, Impala." He added, turning to pat the black mustang fondly.

Impala snorted slightly, whinnying quietly for his own master. Sam laughed, leaning a hip against the wooden stall door. "I'm sorry; Dean is not here at the moment. He's off gallivanting with that mage of his. You know Impala, I'd say that he may have a new friend to travel with…" he teased the mustang. Impala gave the younger Winchester a pointed look, swishing his tail impatiently.

Before Sam could respond to the mustang's obvious glare, two men entered the stable, looking directly at him. "Samuel. Come with us. The elders wish to speak with you on… special circumstances." One mage said quietly, motioning to the younger brother.

Sam gave them both a look of suspicion before nodding his consent. He glanced back at the two equines before following the men out of the stable and towards the main house.

* * *

Castiel stood within the mother house walls, pacing slightly. The ceremony had been looming for three days, and never before had he been more uncomfortable about leaving bachelorhood than before. It had never really occurred to him that he was taking such a huge step; it was customary. Everyone did it. But…

Castiel ran a hand through his hair, looking out the window once again in exasperation. He wasn't sure what he was looking for but… something felt missing; like a presence was not where it should be. The eye tattoo crinkled in disconcert, the warm noonday breeze doing nothing to lift his senses. He repeated a mantra of calm, reminding himself that this day should be a day of rejoicing, the day he joins his betrothed in the most sacred of bonds. He should be happy for this…

Castiel looks down at the large silver ring clutched loosely in his fist, running a thumb over the sigils carved into the exterior. Unlike other bonding ceremonies, this one was much more intimate. In other ceremonies, dual rings would be exchanged between the partners before the two were bonded in pledge; this ritual was much different. Whereas two rings to be worn on the hands (a very commonplace ritual meant for those of lower class and status), this ritual required only one ring, about the diameter of the male's forearm. The bonding sigils were carved into the metal, reminiscent of each partner's origin, and presented at the ceremony.

Once the silver ring was presented, each partner would present his or her eternity rose –a white rose for the female, and scarlet for the male- to be blessed by The Father, before tied in an intricate braid to the ring itself. Once tied, the "legal" portion of the ceremony would be set and the full sealing of the souls would occur with the fire bond the following evening. Consummation was the final step of this intricate process, but only after each partner had fully marked his/her possession of the other.

Castiel sighed again, pocketing the ring before turning to hear the main hall door creak open. The hand servant- Maion was his name -, stepped in, holding an elegant red robe folded over his thin forearm. He bowed to the high warrior, before presenting the lush scarlet velvet to him.

"Sir, the ceremony will begin shortly. Your presence is requested at the dais." Maion said quietly, his voice trepid. His eyes did not even connect with Castiel's as he spoke.

Castiel smiled to the young boy, taking the soft fabric from him, and patting him on the shoulder. "Many thanks, Maion. You may go now; I am capable of dressing myself."

When the boy left, Castiel stripped his white robe and paused, gazing at himself in the looking glass. It was not customary to wear his warrior's garb to such an event, but he could not find it in himself to strip completely. It felt wrong. With a quiet shrug, he slipped the red robe over his own clothing, cinching the leather belt at his waist. Once this task was complete, he strode over to the round table where his own eternity rose was resting in vase of cool water. Plucking it up gently, he slipped the thorny stem into his belt and left the hall, headed towards his fate.

* * *

Sam was escorted into the main conference hall of the courthouse, where he spied Dean already indulging in the proffered wine, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. Sam cocked an eyebrow, confused, when Dean waved him over.

"Come, brother. We have great need of celebration!" Dean called to him, clasping a heavy hand on his younger brother's shoulder.

"Dean, you act strangely. What is this news you wish to speak of?" Sam asked, nevertheless taking his own goblet and draining the bittersweet liquid in one swallow.

Before Dean could respond, the door opened once again and Zachariah strode in, inconspicuously locking the door behind him as he smiled warmly at the two men. "I can be of assistance in your inquiry, Samuel. It pertains to your presence here in our clan."

When Sam gave him an incredulous look, Zachariah walked over to the table and poured them each another hearty helping of wine, taking a dainty sip from his golden chalice.

"You and your brother have caused quite a fuss amongst our people. One in particular finds your company to be quite… delightful."T he elder Enochian said, gauging his words carefully before speaking. Dean and Sam both bowed respectfully to the elder man in response.

"Thank you, good sir." Dean added, toasting his glass to the hall. He turned to Sam, winking as the hand servant slipped silently into the room, whispering into the ear of the elder.

Zachariah smiled to the young boy, patting his head affectionately before sending him on his way. "We will make this quick… Castiel's ceremony will begin soon, and I know how much he wishes for your presence there, Deanolo."Dean beamed slightly, his ears tinting pink, before the elder continued.

"I wished to speak to the two of you on your actions. Your names are not unknown to us, as you are probably aware. Your prowess and cunning are valiant traits that we wish to enforce our side with. You see…" Zachariah said carefully, walking around the width of the table to finger a small statue on the mantle with care. "We are not the only mages in this land. Our hated enemies have been honing their skills tremendously as we have, but they have one thing we do not possess and we do not wish to partake in… a brute strength and malice that rivals our won piety. They use their strength to their advantage, making them a frightful foe indeed."

Sam nodded, understanding. "Daemons…" he breathed, looking at Dean. His older brother tensed at the name, and Zachariah smiled at their understanding.

"Indeed… the Daemons are infamous outside our own ring of informants, I see. This is suitable… we wish to employ the strength of a Winchester to our forces to defeat them once and for all." His eyes locked with Dean's for a moment, but Sam caught the wording quickly, and frowned.

Dean placed the goblet down on the table, nodding to the elder. "We will assist you as we can, Zachariah." He agreed immediately, hand resting on the pommel of his sword. However, his pride was short lived, as Sam spoke next.

"You say A Winchester… singular." Sam added, his voice taking on a suspicious tone.

Zachariah sighed, and nodded. "Indeed, I can only employ the work of one of you… the worthy brother. And unfortunately, Samuel, it is not you. Michael, our second in command has requested that he take Dean under his wing to defeat the Daemons once and for all."

Dean shook his head, his brow furrowing. "We fight together, or we do not fight at all." He added stubbornly, taking his brother's side.

Zachariah sighed, grabbing an ancient tome from the mantel, flipping to a well worn page. "_And the High Order spake, and took upon one Hunter to guide them to victory over the darkness of the land. Sacrifice is not lost, as the Dark Sibling was cast out from the presence of the Enochians. The Dark Sibling was thrown to the pit, where his allegiance was twisted by the wroth of the Daemons and turned against his brother and his just cause. And brother shall turn against brother, smiting the darkness from his being and salvation shall dress the land in honor and light."_ Zachariah read, closing the dusty book with a thud. "You see boys… Samuel is not welcome in our order. He will turn against us… as is prophesized." He growled, his voice taking on a menacing tone.

Sam and Dean immediately took the defensive, standing together. "Samuel will not turn against us. Our cause is just, Zachariah!" Dean spat, drawing his sword quickly. Suddenly, the door burst open as the guardians of the village entered the room, swords drawn and ready.

Zachariah smirked darkly, turning to face the brothers. "Deanolo and Samuel Winchester… the only survivors of the Daemon attack of the High Plains people. Samuel was marked on his soul from that time, having come in direct contact with the dark power of their leader, Lucifer. He is not worthy, nor welcome. And if need be… we will smite the darkness before it takes hold and destroys us all!"

Dean backed his brother up fully, the two inching towards their only option of escape, eyes locked on Zachariah's. "Over my dead body, Zachariah!" he hissed, gripping his sword tightly. Samuel balled his fists defensively… his cross bow had been taken from him when they entered into the community.

Zachariah smirked, rising is hand up for the final signal to his men if need be. "Very well then…"

* * *

Castiel stood on the raised stage, across from Annahriel, their eyes locking as Raphael read from an ancient book, the words floating over the land as the audience watched with bated breath. Castiel's hands twisted in his red cloak nervously, the silver ring resting on the altar before them.

His eye flickered over the crowd, scanning the area for Dean and Sam. They were nowhere to be found, and Castiel found this to be rather discomforting. He sighed, turning back to the other two, smiling sheepishly at the angered look on Annahriel's face for his inability to focus on the ceremony. Raphael cleared his throat, looking at Castiel expectantly.

"I said you may present your rose, Castiel." The priest repeated, gesturing to the warrior's belt. Castiel nodded, pulling the red rose from the leather belt. He had just reached across the table to take Annahriel's rose and begin the braiding, when a sight caught his eye, basking him in a sense of dread.

The red rose was wilted.

Castiel's breath caught in his throat, as the signs began to connect in his mind. "Dean…" he looked up at the others, shaking his head. "I can't… there's trouble in the village!" he said suddenly, jumping down from the dais and taking off into the crowd, followed by confused murmurs and Annahriel's angered voice in his retreat.

Castiel ripped the red robe from his back, making a beeline for the conference hall where he knew the elder Zachariah would be, drawing his dagger as he ran. He took the steps two at a time, darting past the oddly tense guards, taking not a second thought at their strange behavior. Pausing slightly in the vestibule, he listened for anything strange, and heard strained murmuring, his heightened senses tensing with anticipation. Gripping the pommel tightly, he slunk through the halls, shoulders tense. Something was very wrong with this situation and his brow knitted in suspicion.

The first thing he noticed was the presence of the guards gathered around the main conference hall, swords drawn, and he stopped short, eyes widening. Even from this distance, he could hear the voices within the conference hall, and the tone was hostile. Dean…

Castiel slipped out of the main hall and went about the back way, listening into the heated confrontation, resolve hardening in determination. Snatches of the conversation caught his attention specifically, as Zachariah spoke of the ancient prophecy. It didn't take long before two and two clicked, and Castiel stopped short of his destination- an internal window to the conference hall- his heart a war-drum in his chest. The Winchesters… they were the prophesized brothers?

Finally, Castiel summoned enough determination to complete his trek, peering in through the internal window just in time to see the guards from earlier rush the room, pinning the brothers in. He heard Zachariah's final words before his hand dropped in signal. An all out struggle ensued, the brothers fighting in vain against the well guarded soldiers. No, no, Castiel couldn't let this happen!

Slamming his elbow into the feeble pane, he burst into the room with a spray of glass, sprinting to the brothers' sides and parrying a deadly blow from Dean's right with a shout. The room fell into pause, breaths a heavy rush against the silence that resulted.

"Castiel… stand down, now." Zachariah ordered, his face taking on a hard look as he rounded on the young warrior. Castiel responded with only a firmer grip on his dagger, shaking his head.

"Never, Zachariah; I will not allow this." He retorted, glaring at his superior. He looked back at the two brothers, nodding to them.

Once again, Dean felt a rush of warmth in his chest. Not once, but twice this man had saved him from death, and he smiled at him, knowing that he had at least one ally amongst these people; a people who had only just accepted them into their culture.

Zachariah rubbed his temple with annoyance plastered on his lined features, looking up at the young Enochian before him. "Defiance, Castiel… this is not like you…"

"I defy in the name of honor, Zachariah!" Castiel retorted, one hand loosening from the dagger slightly. The hand dropped to his side, fingers curling in a loose claw.

Dean paused, eyes widening. The tension in the air increased tenfold, and he looked back at Sam, the physical weight of the tension feeling as if it were rooting him to the spot. 'Where had this sensation come from?' His eyes asked, receiving an equally perplexed look.

Zachariah smirked suddenly, staring into the ethereal blue eyes of his new opponent, raising a hand before him. "Very well then, Castiel; join your fellow traitors in death!" He shouted suddenly, the soldiers lunging forward.

However, before a blow could even be landed, Castiel wrenched around, hand poised before him. He shouted an incantation in Enochian that shook the very floors of the hall. Dean and Sam clasped their hands over their ears at the sound of the powerful words, but this muffling did nothing to block out the sound of every glass object in the room shattering in an explosion of power. Even the foot soldiers were floored by the words, writhing in pain from the powerful magic that filled their very veins with a vengeance.

Castiel sheathed his dagger, grabbing both brothers' by the wrist and wrenching them past the fallen soldiers, throwing them out of the door. "GO!" he shouted, the three of them fleeing down the halls towards escape.

Like a swarm of ants from their burrows, the soldiers flooded the hall, tailing the three men as they ran. Escape seemed impossible, but once again the young Enochian filled the air with the sounds of another all too powerful incantation, plowing through the men as the fled the building. "To the stables!" Castiel ordered, shoving them before him.

Dean immediately took the offensive, slashing his way through the oncoming warriors as they ran, until the three of them finally engaged the stables, freeing their bucking equines from their stalls. Dean mounted Impala quickly, turning in time to see Sam grab the reigns of Jess. Once mounted, the two brothers galloped from the stables, plowing into the soldiers sent to exterminate them. There was something missing, Dean suddenly noticed, looking about wildly. "Where's Cas?"

Before any response could be given, a war cry filled the air as a soldier lunged forward, spear in hand aimed directly at Sam. "SAM!" Dean shouted, unable to stop the forward motion of the massive spear. There was no way his brother could survive and spear thrust like that; he would be slaughtered instantly!

Jess squealed in rage, rearing up to strike down the soldier that threatened her master, but the spear was already unstoppable. A squelch of metal to flesh signaled impact as the steel spearhead pierced the belly of the palomino, the younger Winchester thrown from her back.

"JESS!" Sam screamed in horror, scrambling over to the dying horse's side. Jess flailed painfully, nickering in agony as Sam, directly in the middle of the scrap, took hold of her reverently. "Jess… no…" he moaned, cradling her head in his lap. A quiet whicker from his equine signaled the end as she went limp in his arms, eyes glassy with her death knell. Tears ran down the young man's face as he watched his beloved companion die in his arms.

Dean parried another blow, whipping around in the saddle as he overtook several soldiers in their attack. "Sam we have to go NOW!" Dean yelled, slicing through the neck of one of the Enochian soldiers, turning in his saddle to the sight of the dead horse, his grieving brother. "No…" he murmured, watching his brother's façade slowly morph from that of grief to utter rage. His companion had been slaughtered by the hands of those that had seemingly accepted them, and now they were being hunted. It was too much…

Sam stood a look of utter rage on his face as he rounded on the soldiers. "You bastards." he hissed, standing ready to fight to the death if need be. But it never got to that point.

Suddenly another whinny filled the air as a snow white horse galloped into the fray, ridden bareback by a familiar sight. Castiel, ridden atop the white mare, ordered her in a short Enochian phrase. The mare bucked back, knocking two soldiers away with a deadly blow of her hooves, before he turned slightly on her back. He whistled a short, shrill blast, eyes determined.

Suddenly Sam and Dean both turned to see yet another saddle-less horse charged the group. This horse sported a dark, chestnut brown coat with a lighter brown mane and tail, a white blaze running the length of his snout. The chestnut whickered to Sam as the younger Winchester looked up at Castiel with confusion.

"Get on the horse!" Castiel ordered, already turning his white mare to flee with the brothers.

Sam looked almost confused, having never ridden barebacked before. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the saddle from the dead equine's back and threw it on the back of the young stallion, cinching the belt around his belly loosely and clambering to mount. He would fix the setting later; as of right now escape was more urgent.

The chestnut bolted after the other two riders, Sam clutching his mane tightly; lack of reins made riding much more awkward at this point, but the young stallion was cunning indeed. He wove through the tree line after the black and white horses, whinnying to Sam, who only responded by clamping his knees tighter to either side of the horse's belly, crouched low over his neck.

All of a sudden, the air burst to life with the whistling sounds of projectiles, an arrow firmly imbedding itself in the trunk of a small sycamore. "Duck!" Dean shouted, crouching low over Impala's neck. Cas followed suit, the three weaving through the trees to make their targets more difficult to hit. But their success was short lived.

During their weaving gait, Dean's horse leapt a fallen log, fully exposing his back to the arrows. A sharp twang of bowstring, hissing air, a solid thud of metal and flesh… Dean gasped in pain, the arrow piercing his back just above his shoulder blade, and he faltered, his position slipping nearly off of his mount. However, just as Dean thought his fall would be his last, a strong hand caught his shoulder, righting his position in the saddle. He looked up to see Sam's worried face, the two horses riding side by side in matched pace. "Fuck…" he gasped, gripping the reins tighter, despite the coursing agony through his now maimed shoulder.

Castiel's eyes widened at the sight of the wounded man, and he reined the white mare in, turning to face the advancing soldiers. He raised a hand before him, chanting a slow, rhythmic line, over and over; a mantra that seemed to crescendo within itself. The trees echoed as the spell grew in strength, overpowering everyone.

Dean looked back to see Castiel just waiting for the soldiers and he tensed. "No Castiel.. Get out of there! CAS!" he called, trying to turn Impala around, despite Sam's protests. He didn't get very far.

The trees suddenly were alight in brilliant golden flashed, impenetrable flames licking at the foliage and barring the soldiers from passing. The flames were unlike anything the brother's had ever seen; unquenchable, unbreakable. They watched in awe as Castiel turned to them again, riding up quickly.

"We must move now, place as much space between ourselves and the Enochians as we can. They will break the barrier in due time." He answered their incredulous glances, leading them off at a brisk gallop, away from the prophecy crazed Enochians… away from Castiel's home.

* * *

Dean lay by the quickly forged fire, his hand gripping his bloodied shoulder painfully. Castiel had long since stripped him from his shirt, the man sitting before his brother and the Enochian shirtless. Castiel knelt next to Dean, touching the arrow gently. In his other hand he gripped a rag doused in some form of fluid that the Enochian promised would help Dean.

Dean shrugged, turning away as Castiel took his dagger and made a tiny slit in the skin of his shoulder, pulling the serrated arrow head from his skin without tearing the flesh. He winched from the pain, but said nothing, waiting until Castiel had removed the projectile from his flesh and began cleansing the wound heartily. "Easy there, Cas…" he growled, gritting his teeth.

Cas sighed, softening his touches. "My apologies Dean…" he said quietly, wiping the dried blood from his companion's back, before returning his attention to the wound.

Sam was not attentive to the occurrence. He was busy tending to the three horses, remorse for the death of his own equine still a heavy weight on his heart. Impala also sensed the absence of the palomino and snorted quietly, sadly.

The Enochian horses, however, were far from distraught. The white mare stood ready, muscles tensed in preparation, as she always was. The other horse was amusing himself by tugging at the saddle blanket incessantly; nickering almost in amusement each time Sam readjusted it. Then the process would begin again.

After several minutes of struggling with this, Sam gave up and let the chestnut have his way with the saddle blanket, turning to the other two. "Castiel… might I ask who I shall be addressing these two equines as?" he asked, feeling a tug on the back of his tunic. He turned to see the chestnut look away almost innocently, tossing his mane with flippancy. However, when Sam turned back to face the others, the chestnut turned and nipped at his back again, whickering.

Castiel turned to Sam and smiled, nodding to him. "The white mare is my own mount. I had raised her from the time of her birth. Her name is Iofiel, thus meaning "Beauty of God". As you can see, Iofiel prefers bareback riding to the saddle. I was never successfully able to train her to use the saddle… So I trained myself instead. Now we are impossible to challenge on horseback. Bareback riding has proven to be much more successful… we have a closer connection, are able to reach each other much better than with the use of saddle and reins." As if to emphasize his point, Iofiel whickered to her master, pawing the ground before Cas raised a hand to her, smiling as the horse went still.

Sam smirked, turning to the other… peskier horse. "And who is this gentleman then?" he asked as the chestnut tossed his head impatiently for being ignored. He whickered in content when Sam ran a hand down his blaze, nudging his hand with his nose.

Cas sighed slightly, smiling as he turned back to finish tending to the wound in question. "That… he is our most mischievous of the brigade, but one of our most talented rides in the whole garrison." He said, as the chestnut whinnied again, pulling the saddle blanket from his back again and looking proud as Sam sighed in defeat. "Samuel… meet Gabriel."


	5. By my power, I serve free will

Chapter 5

Dean shifted in his sleep, sighing softly as he made himself more comfortable. The early morning sun barely peeked into the sky; the air above them stained deep blues and pinks from the impending daybreak. Bird calls broke the otherwise silent morning calm, the dawn breaking slowly from the misty horizon.

A sudden snuffling ruffled Dean's hair, disturbing his sleep. Almost automatically, Dean's hand came up, swatting the nuisance away drowsily. "No Impala… It's too early…" Dean muttered, turning back over to drift back to sleep.

Instead, the snuffling persisted, this time firmer, more insistent. Dean groaned, pushing the nose away again. "I said, no!" He growled, turning over to face the antagonizing equine.

But it wasn't Impala. Instead, the white mare stooped over the prone man, sniffing him curiously as she nickered quietly. Dean stared at her confused for a moment, before smiling. "Aye… Iofiel, I am sorry; I did not mean to shun you, girl." Dean laughed, sitting up.

Iofiel looked rather indignant and tossed her mane haughtily before trotting back over to her master. The young mage tended to the fire quietly, and the absence of Samuel lead Dean to understand the two were collaborating on the morning meal; Castiel to cook while Sam hunted the fowl of the land.

Dean caught sight of a small smirk on the corners of the mage's mouth, and he laughed. "Oh I see then, Cas. You have sent your horse to commit your dirty work of waking me, is that it?"

Castiel shrugged, tossing the white mare a piece of feed before standing and grabbing more kindling for the fire. "I admit to no such thing, Deanolo. You single me out for such a terrible plot, why? It is through the heart, my friend…. straight through!" he said with an air of dramatics, his appearance overly abashed by this.

Dean laughed, rolling his shoulder gently to test the tight muscles. "And I myself admit to no such accusations, Cas. For after all, you have done such a marvelous job of tending to my wounds, I could not offend any such caretaker. I have not the skills to mend my own person!"

Castiel's appearance took on a smug façade, as he turned back to Dean. "Speaking of such wounds, I must check them. Sit." He ordered. When Dean had done so, he knelt behind him and pulled the bandage back gently from the healing wound.

Castiel smiled, touching the scar gently before applying a thin layer of poultice to the skin and re-covering it. "it is knitting well. It will not be long before you are able to remove the bandage. How is your form?" he asked, leaning back slightly.

Dean shrugged, turning to face him. "I believe I can move with much better ease now, Cas; although I will not test the weight of my sword just yet. "

Castiel nodded in agreement, helping Dean pull his tunic on over the bulky cover. "Indeed, that is a wise choice. However, you seem to be well enough to partake in other activities… like tending the camp." He said mischievously, handing Dean a sack of camp supplies.

Dean groaned, taking the sack. "Tending" the camp meant cleaning the area of their debris so as not to disturb the environment. He always had bestowed this task on Sam, but now seeing as he was the invalid, he would take on the menial labor. "You are fortunate that I am in a forgiving mood, Castiel."

Castiel smirked, returning his attention to the fire. "Oh, dear. You have used my full name. I am frightened." His response dripped with sarcasm.

Dean smiled, going about his camp duties. The air fell into companionable silence, broken only by the crackling of the now roaring fire.

Every so often, Dean's attention landed on the stoic mage before him, before he would shake himself from his diversion to remind himself that his duty still loomed incomplete. But that did not stop his recurring distraction.

Castiel looked far too serene for such a situation that both knew they were simply disregarding for the moment. Dean knew that they would be unable to put it off for long, considering. But at the moment, they were simply companions on the trail. If they could keep this mindset for as long as possible, they were comfortable. Besides… Dean did not want to admit this, but he felt rather comfortable around the mage… much more comfortable than he normally would allow himself for others. Sam was one thing… this was entirely new. He felt… strange. Dean had no words to really describe his emotions on the situation, but a change in atmosphere saved him the trouble of muddling through them.

Sam reined Gabriel into the camp, jumping down from the saddle with his successful catch. Two large pheasants and a prairie rabbit for each of them to indulge in. Sam smiled, laying the birds and jackrabbits out to be cleaned. "I must say, your horse brings much luck to the hunt!" he laughed, pulling another small purse from his hip. Inside held a small handful of wild figs, ripe and sweet, and he distributed the treats between the three of them before grabbing his flint knife and whetting it quickly.

Castiel grinned, plucking the nearest pheasant expertly. "I am surprised. He normally saps the fortune from those around him, what with his temperament. He must take a shining to you, Samuel."

Sam shrugged, laying one of the jackrabbits on its side. He ran two cuts around the base of each hind leg, pulling the skin off quickly. Suddenly, he jerked forward, and whipped around to see Gabriel nudging him playfully, whickering to him. Sam smiled and ran a hand down his light blaze before returning his attention to the kill before him. "Gabriel, I sense you seek attention. Why not play with Impala or Iofiel?"

Gabriel looked a bit put off, but nonetheless, tossed his head flippantly and trotted over to the other two equines, grazing lazily.

Dean laughed, sitting down finally after his duties were complete, snatching the fig up and rubbing the dirt from the soft skin. "It appears that Gabriel has rejected your friendship, Sam. It is impossible for you to keep any under your belt, though so I do not see this as any sort of surprise." Dean jested, shoving Sam's shoulder playfully.

Sam glared at Dean, flicking a piece of fur in his direction. "As if you could speak. Your only friends are you horse and your bread!"

Castiel raised his eyebrows, looking between the two brothers. "I thank the Father for my lack of siblings. If this is how they behave, I would rather drown."

Dean returned his attention to the mage, smirking. "This is our form of affection. Nothing short of manly!"

Sam snorted into his fist, receiving a blow to the back of the head. "OW!" he griped, flinging the bloody entrails in retaliation.

Castiel sighed, standing up. "Enough you two, you act as nothing more than children! But… If you really must fight however, I must side with Samuel on this one."

Dean stared, shocked as Sam quietly cheered his small victory against his elder brother. Castiel merely ignored the look Dean shot him, sitting down once again.

"You must be joking, Cas! How could you side with the enemy, against me of all?" Dean said, feigning the wounded one.

Castiel didn't say anything, watching with amusement as Dean's unwatched fig quickly disappeared from its spot, via Gabriel. "If only to irk you, Dean. Otherwise, I find no reason to side with any on such an argument."

Dean blinked for a moment before shrugging the statement off. He reached down to grab the fig, only to find the spot empty. "What…?"

"I may have failed to mention that Gabriel has an incessant sweet tooth. Do not leave your treats unattended around him, lest they surely go missing." Castiel added, as Sam laughed heartily, biting noticeably into his own fruit to spite the irate Dean.

"BLOODY HORSE!" Dean raged, glaring over his shoulder at the prancing equine. Impala and Iofiel both whinnied to Gabriel as if to cheer him on.

"Now who is one against the world, Dean?" Sam hooted, flint knife and jackrabbit forgotten in his mirth.

Dean only glared at Castiel, who looked far too smug for his liking. "I despise you…" he seethed, glaring at Castiel.

This time, Castiel returned the look, leaning over the fire to sneer at Dean. "Once again, Dean, I am none to trifle with."

"I could easily best you to prove your mistake!"

Castiel turned his eyes skyward, sighing. "With your knitting wound, I dare not tempt it. However, there are ways to prove one wrong…" he muttered, his voice trailing off. Suddenly, a look of utter mischief crossed his eyes. "How are you to ride?"

Dean stared at him for a moment, before the meaning sank in. "I am well enough to support myself on the saddle… why? Are you suggesting what I think you are?"

Castiel smirked, sitting back. "It is only fair. We could settle this dispute at once, with no harm befalling the other; after all we are working together on this."

Sam raised his hands in surrender, backing out of the conversation. "I will resist this challenge; after all the camp needs someone to watch it."

Dean and Castiel both paid no heed; both simply stood together, staring the other down. Castiel clicked his tongue, summoning Iofiel, while Dean motioned to Impala. Both horses came obediently.

Castiel smiled, resting a hand on Iofiel's neck. "I will give you time to saddle Impala. We race… "he paused, looking around their environment. Off in the distance, the rise of distant foot hills caught his eye. "… to those foot hills. Winner receives bragging rights; the other receives camp duty for two weeks. Agreed?"

Dean looked to where Castiel gestured, squinting. "That must be well over a league!"

Castiel raised a hand, staying his further comments. "Are we agreed?" he repeated, extending his hand to Dean.

Dean smirked, taking it in good faith. "Indeed, we are agreed. However…" he added, lifting the blanket and saddle to Impala's back, fastening them quickly. "… I must warn you fairly that Impala is impossible to beat in cross country!"

Cas smiled, mounting Iofiel bare-back as per usual for the two. "And I say… you have no idea who you are up against. Those cumbersome accessories will only slow Impala. But, if it is what makes you happy I cannot deny your comforts." Once he was seated, Castiel removed his robe, leaving him only in his boots, leggings and tunic. He pulled at the half-glove gauntlets to secure them and nodded to Dean. "When you are ready…"

Dean smirked over at him, gripping the reins tightly. "No, no. I insist, you first…"

Sam had already had enough of their banter groaned audibly. "JUST GO ALREADY!"

Like a shot, both riders were off, galloping full speed across the country side. Hoof beats thundered across the landscape, dirt flying from the horses' trek.

Dean smirked, seeing Castiel's equine merely neck and neck with Impala. "I see your horse has good pace! See if she can catch up!" Dean jeered, spurring Impala onward. Impala gunned his speed, pulling ahead of the white mare easily.

He looked over his shoulder to see Castiel hovering over the horse's back, the only support he used to ride Iofiel being his knees clamped firmly at her sides. He gripped her mane, his seat upon her back light but controlled. He had to admit that it was rather impressive. They moved as one entity, whilst he fully controlled Impala's trek, using the reins to guide the horse. However, he was still winning at this point, and he smiled smugly, turning his attention to the lagging rider. "YOU SEE?" he shouted to him, grinning like a fool. "IMPALA IS NO MATCH IN A RACE!"

Castiel grinned, leaning down. He whispered something to Iofiel, the horse's ears perking up at his words.

Dean smiled and turned his attention back to the trek before him. The fields splayed before them, the rise of distant mountains foggy against the background as the foothills slowly eased closer. If this pace kept up, Dean could easily beat Castiel by a landslide. He felt rather confident.

That is, until his confidence hit a wall at the next turn of events. Suddenly the sound of impending hoof beats drawing nearer caught his attention, and he tensed. He turned just in time to see Castiel and Iofiel, rider and horse, pass Dean as if he merely strolled by his horse's side. Dean's jaw fell open as Castiel turned, balancing on one knee upon Iofiel's back to salute him. "CATCH ME, OH GREAT HUNTER OF THE PLAINS PEOPLE!" Castiel laughed, pulling ahead of Dean quickly.

Dean shook his head, spurring Impala onward. The chase in full swing, he spurred Impala further, the black mustang giving his all to try and catch up with Iofiel. But it was near impossible.

Iofiel flowed over the landscape like water, hooves barely beating the ground before her stride continued, putting great distance between them.

As they rode the sun finally broke the horizon completely, bathing the landscape in golden light. It was stunning. Dean nearly lost concentration, his attention locked on the elegant rider before him. Sunlight glinted off of Iofiel's white fur, the two nearly angelic as they rode together. It was more than he could say for his own riding partnership with Impala. Castiel barely guided the white mare, letting their bond control their moves. Stunning.

"CANYON!" Cas suddenly shouted over his shoulder, veering off violently in his course. It took Dean a moment to realize what he meant, when he saw it. A large canyon that neither had noticed before suddenly spread before them, gaping mouth ready to swallow them into dark depths. Dean pulled the reins harshly, Impala's hooves scraping dirt as he tried to stop his advance. It did no good, the only course of action being to follow the rider before him.

Impala compensated, dirt flying as he rode along the lip of the canyon following the white mare. Dean kept his eyes locked on the rider before him; daring not to look beyond his vantage point to the gaping hole which he rode mere inches from. He shook his head in wonder. It was as if Castiel did not even know the canyon was there; attention on the ride to keep his connection with Iofiel.

Dean knew there was no way to cross the canyon easily. His only option would be to spot a narrower portion before Castiel did to make the leap. And luck would be on his side.

Dean spotted the narrowest stretch, and gauged it quickly. Yes, Impala would be able to make the jump easily. He'd warn Castiel of it after the fact so as to gain the upper hand on the leap and pull ahead in the race. Dean changed course, moving away from the canyon before turning back and urging Impala on at full speed.

Impala hit the edge, making the leap. He easily breeched the gap, landing with a loud clatter of hooves on the hard dirt below. Castiel had not noticed, still riding on. "CASTIEL!" Dean shouted, catching the young mage's attention.

The mage turned to see Dean safely on the other side, and he smirked. He too veered off from the canyon and turned back, Iofiel pausing slightly. He eyed the canyon for a moment, a silence filling the air.

Dean realized too late what the mage's plan was. He would cross at that point… much further down the length of the ravine, where the canyon stretched far too wide for any creature to cross. His eyes widened at the realization, as he began waving his arms frantically. "NO! THE RAVINE IS TOO WIDE!" he shouted, hoping to stop the mage. It was in vain.

Castiel suddenly spurred Iofiel on, the horse charging the gap at full speed. His face masked determined, headed straight for the massive crack in the earth.

Dean's heart stopped in his chest. Iofiel didn't even have a good starting distance for her jump, and Castiel thought she could make it? It was mad! They would both be killed by the fall! It was too much to bear.

Time seemed to slow as Iofiel hit the ledge and made her leap. Dean's eyes trained on the concentration of the mage's façade, the horse flying through the air. Suddenly, Castiel released his grip on her mane, his arms extended to either side, war cry filling the very air that froze in this moment of truth.

The moments crawled as Dean's heart worked to start again. Iofiel couldn't possibly make the whole distance; her descent was already begun and she hadn't made it to the other side yet. "Come on… Castiel… please…" he urged, white-knuckling the reins.

The air cracked to life the moment Iofiel's hooves hit the ledge. She staggered slightly from her flight, rider and horse clambering onto solid earth after several horrifying moments. They had succeeded!

Dean whooped for joy, fist pounding the air in congratulatory cheer. Iofiel reared back as a whinny broke around them. Castiel smiled, saluting the hunter in return. He looked absolutely elated by the success, trotting over to Dean's side. "I find your cheer to be uplifting. Shall we continue?" He asked, leaning over Iofiel's neck to leer at Dean.

However, before Dean could respond, the sound of thunder filled the air. This was disconcerting… there was not a cloud in the sky. Dean slowly turned to the source of the sound, eyes wide. Both men froze, shocked.

A herd of strange looking animals barreled their direction. Neither man had ever seen one of these creatures before. They were absolutely massive, huge shaggy heads atop furry brown bodies. Hooves like cattle beat the earth flat as they charged, horns lowered to attack.

Dean stared at the creatures, before looking at Castiel with wide eyes. "Time to go!" he yelled, urging Impala on. Both men took off atop their steeds, riding as hard as they could to evade the stampeding animals.

Both men were shocked to see these animals quickly overtake them, the herd charging. It didn't take long before both men were enveloped amongst the huge creatures, riding along side of them as they ran.

Iofiel whinnied frightened, tossing her head as she ran alongside a particularly large creature. The animal lowed in response, knocking into her. The force nearly drove Castiel from her back, but a steadying hand from his companion kept him astride as they fought to work their way from the thick of the herd.

There was no way they could break free. The animals were grouped too tightly to make their way through the throng. "What do we do?" Dean yelled to Castiel, looking more than worried. If they fell from the backs of their rides, they would surely be trampled.

Castiel looked over his shoulder to the remainder of the herd, before looking back at Dean. "Stay strong. We may be able to let them pass if we are careful!"

Dean nodded, concentrating on his ride. They gradually slowed, letting the animals make their way, occasionally dodging a wayward creature as it barreled towards them. The adrenaline coursed through their veins, keeping the two alert. It wouldn't be long…

Finally, FINALLY, the last of the animals made their way through, leaving the two men behind in their wake. Both men slowed their horses to a stop, panting heavily as they watched them disburse into the environment. Even the creatures seemed to slow finally as they exhausted themselves, the herd breaking apart as they, one by one, stopped.

Dean's eyes trained on the beasts, holding the reins of his horse in a vice like grip. It was a bit much excitement for one day already, but he couldn't have asked for a better excursion. He smiled, turning to speak to Castiel, when he found that he was no longer by his side.

"Dean." Castiel called, grabbing the hunter's attention.

Dean turned in time to see Castiel guide Iofiel in a trot, making the last leg of their journey –a mere thirty feet- to the base of the foothills. His eyes widened in awe. The stampede had driven them right towards their destination… and sure enough, Castiel was the first to reach the foothills.

"I win." Castiel said finally, smiling broadly.

Dean stared for a moment, realizing exactly what had happened. Castiel had won by a mere trot. Both men locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter.

* * *

The sun had already crested the sky, beginning to make its way westward. Both men had synonymously decided to take the day for themselves, enjoying the scenery. After all, Impala and Iofiel both needed to rest after such a hard ride.

Dean poured the contents of his canteen into his palm, letting Impala drink. Castiel sat against the face of one of the rocks, letting Iofiel rest her head in his lap. He ran his fingers through her mane, muttering soothing words in Enochian to her. The midday sun had colored the skin of his shoulders and neck a light pink, his nose and cheeks flushed with sun exposure. Dean smiled at the sight. If he didn't know Castiel any better, he could have sworn he was just an innocent Rider, a messenger of the plains.

His eyes landed on the strange tattoo around Castiel's right eye, brow furrowing. After several weeks of travel with the mage, he had still not asked for the origin of said tattoo. Castiel was indeed an intriguing man. Dean learned new things of him every day.

"Castiel… I meant to ask. Of what importance does the tattoo around your eye possess?" Dean inquired, resting his elbows on his knees.

Castiel's hand drifted up to his face, a small smile dancing on the corners of his mouth. "To tell you the truth, it possesses no importance whatsoever. I was young. I remember when I got it, actually. It was before one of our solstice rituals, and my companions and I, well… we got into the ritual hallucinogens a bit early before the ceremony. I don't exactly remember the tattooing itself, but I remember waking the next morning to find it around my eye. I considered removing it, but I grew so attached to it I couldn't see myself without the tattoo. So I left it."

Dean smirked, nodding. "Indeed, I am glad you opted not to remove the tattoo. It makes you look rather dashing."

He wasn't sure, but Dean thought he saw Castiel blush. Either that, or the sunburn on his cheeks grew worse as they spoke.

The two fell back into silence, simply enjoying each other's company. Dean looked up after a moment to speak again, when he saw the look on his friend's face. Castiel looked… upset. "Cas? Are you well?" He asked, sitting up a bit straighter.

Castiel nodded, rubbing his eyes for a moment. "I am well. It is… it's just…" he couldn't seem to find the words to finish, and simply fell back into silence.

Dean decided to finish for him. "You miss your clan." He offered, nodding.

Castiel shrugged slightly, wincing from the tight skin on his shoulders. "It is not that I miss them. I have… I went against my own way of life. It is just something I would have never considered doing. But I couldn't let them go through with their plan. I…" he paused, looking up at Dean. "… I just couldn't."

Dean listened to him speak, sympathizing with him. "I understand. If you see wrongs amongst your own people it is better to right them, even at the expense of your own ways."

Castiel nodded, smiling slightly. "You completely understand, and for that I am grateful. Besides, you and Sam… you are both my friends. And I will not turn my friends over to harm if I can help it. You two are the closest I have ever seen of any siblings; it is most endearing."

Castiel lifted his eyes to the gradually waning sun, smiling slightly in confirmation. "By my power, I serve free will."

Dean's eyes locked on Castiel, the fading sunlight staining his near perfect face in golden hues. A smile broke across his face as his previously warring emotions finally clicked into place. He now knew the word he had been searching for to describe his companion, and it fit him absolutely perfectly… beautiful.

The whickering of their equines drove Dean from his awe, as he looked up to the horses. It was then he realized exactly how late it was. "It would be best if we went back to the camp… Samuel is probably worrying his head off about the two of us." He muttered, standing up to stretch his back gently.

Castiel nodded, speaking not a word as he stood as well, urging Iofiel to her feet. Running his fingertips over a tight muscle in her shoulder, he soothed it before mounting her quickly.

Once the two were seated, they rode off, a much gentler pace than their previous ride, simply enjoying the scenery that they had previously ignored before in their urgent need to complete the race.

Dean mulled over Castiel's words as they rode, sneaking a glance over at his companion. "When you speak of these rituals… they are of great importance, no? Would any be allowed to see them?"

Castiel didn't speak long enough for Dean to believe he would not respond, but before the bounty hunter could put off this portion of the discussion, he sighed. "Indeed, any could see these rituals… but unwanted eyes upon these events are immediately put out."

Dean swallowed, eyes locked before him. "Put out?" he asked, almost timidly.

"Put out… quite violently." Castiel emphasized, nodding. He turned to look at Dean, cerulean eyes hard. "You understand now why there are many reasons I do not approve of my clan's… behavior."

Dean only nodded. "Have you not considered… ceding from them?" The hunter finally asked, turning to him. He regretted these words immediately, the air swallowing them in hot, heavy discomfort.

"The thought had not crossed my mind. But… seeing as where I am now, it is of little importance." The mage said rather coldly.

Dean shrank in on himself, the air growing heavier with Castiel's displeasure. "I am truly sorry…"

The mage softened slightly, sighing. "No, it is alright. It is not your fault, Dean." He took a moment before choosing his next words carefully. "You take a lot of weight upon your shoulders, it seems. However, blame does not always lay with you. Have faith."

Dean only snorted, looking unconvinced. "There are many reasons why I carry so much upon my conscience. Reasons I would rather not discuss."

"Very well…" and the air fell silent once again, although the extra weight dissipated back into companionable quiet.

The silence didn't last long. Dean's curiosity got the better of him eventually, and he sighed, turning back to Castiel. "I never believed that magic was real until I met you and your people. How does it work? Is it something that one is born with or does it come with your trainings?"

Castiel smirked slightly. "Inquisitive, I see. Yes, magic is real and it is indeed borne into the Enochians. But it must be honed with experience. And alas, I am not fully experienced as of yet."

Dean blinked, looking at him. "How? You seem quite adept as it is." The idea that Castiel was a mere novice still was unfathomable to the hunter.

"The strength of one's magic comes with time and experience. One does not reach his full potential until he reaches at least one hundred sun cycles… of which I am a mere twenty shy."

Dean blinked, staring at Castiel in awe. One hundred sun cycles… but that would make him…

"Dean… I am well over eighty cycles aged." Castiel said finally, staring hard into his eyes.

Eighty years old. It was unthinkable. Dean swallowed, unable to find his voice at first. "You… you appear no older than I…" he tried to reason, his mind unable to grasp the concept.

Castiel nodded. "Dean we are not traditional people. Many would say that we are not human. However, we are not immortal. Our longevity is much, much stronger than people such as yourself, but nothing more. The average life span of an Enochian is at least two hundred cycles in length, although there are cases of our kind who ceded and drew mortal breath for the remainder of their sorely shortened days."

Dean found it difficult to comprehend, as he swallowed his disbelief once again. "Do you age?"

"No we do not age. Our maturity ends at our thirtieth cycle, and remains as such until the end of our days. Nothing more."

Dean breathed heavily, shaking his head slightly. "Shit… this is news to comprehend, indeed. However, I must admit for your age you are quite the sight."

Castiel laughed, turning his attention back towards the trail before them. "I thank you for the compliment… if that is indeed what it is."

Dean nodded, smiling back at him. "It is…"

Their eyes locked for a moment, lost in these words. Castiel stared unblinking back into emerald depths, licking his lips slightly to wet them. Dean swallowed and opened his mouth to speak.

The words never came. Sudden unease on their equines' parts alerted them and they both turned to see what had caused the two animals to startle. Dean gasped, eyes wide in shock.

The camp was just ahead, and it was in total disarray. Items were thrown helter skelter, the fire violently trampled, throwing ash every which way. Gabriel paced around the camp, whinnying in dismay. Sam was nowhere to be seen.

Dean immediately leapt from Impala's back, running to the camp site. "No.. No…!"

Castiel stared, shocked. A sudden dread filled his very being and he too became uneasy, sensing what the horses had. "Dean… Dean it is not safe here. We must go!" He shouted, dismounting and dashing to his companion's side.

Dean paid no heed, frantic as he looked around the camp for any clues. None showed, any possibilities being destroyed by the ravaged site. "I left him.. I shouldn't have… I…"

Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder, looking distraught. "Dean… we must go…"

Dean wrenched from his grip, anger welling in his breast. He threw his head back, rage fueling his call. "SAM!"

* * *

Zachariah stood before his leaders, head bowed. "My lords… it has begun." He said, looking up to them. The air hung thick around them.

Michael nodded, turning to The Father as he repeated the words to him quietly. The Father raised a hand motioning meaninglessly as he responded. Zachariah waited patiently for their verdict.

"We shall deal with the brothers in due time, Zachariah." Michael responded eventually, looking to the Enochian before him. "They are our primary interest. However… we must deal with the traitor. Alert Annahriel that the wrongs done to her will not go unpunished. She will have revenge for this."

Zachariah nodded, smiling darkly. "Indeed. The traitor Castiel shall receive his punishment. We will hunt down the remainder Winchester and seek the rebel Enochian, as per The Father's wishes. Dean will see to truth and side with us. As for Castiel… he shall surely pay for his rebellion."


	6. Bound

Chapter 6

The sound of voices around him struck a chord of fear into his heart that he swallowed quickly, setting his jaw underneath the sack-cloth his kidnappers had secured over his head. Firm hands gripped his shoulders tightly, jerking him along. They spoke in bated breaths with words Sam didn't understand, but the very sounds of each dark syllable wrought dread further into his thoughts. He was certainly not in friendly hands, yet these people didn't strike him as those he had previously escaped from. These men were new… and yet strangely familiar. Samuel couldn't explain it, but another kick to the backs of his knees drove the thoughts from his mind as he struggled to stay upright. He'd find out sooner or later.

After what seemed like hours of travel, struggling to remain on his feet as they roughly dragged him down a lonely dirt path, Sam finally felt his kidnappers come to a halt. Exhausted, he fell to his knees, slumping to the hard earth below. How he wished he could remove the sack cloth but his bound hands remained uncomfortable behind his back and he strained against the tight ropes weakly. The murmuring was louder at this point, and it seemed that a whole group had congregated around him, talking hurriedly, bustling about… wherever he was.

Sam heard strange sounds that he did not quite recognize, his lack of sight warping his sense of location. The smell of dust and dirt filled his nostrils as he twisted his head side to side, gauging his place with what senses were not disrupted. The sound of metal on stone, hurried orders shouted… it was all disorienting to a fault. Sam's head drooped as he shook it hurriedly, trying to clear his muddied thoughts. The sack cloth was stifling, choking, dust filling his mouth, his eyes…

Suddenly, he took notice of footsteps along the hard ground, growing closer until they came to a halt before him. The voice before him was low, soft… almost soothing, yet the tone gave Sam pause. Fingertips brushed over his crown before the sackcloth was ripped from his head, bathing him in a wash of brilliant sunlight. Sam wrenched away from the light, eyes screwed shut in pain. Those standing around him laughed slightly, before gentle fingertips gripped his chin, turning his head slightly. Sam dared not open his eyes. Whoever this was… they meant only ill.

"Sam… Sam…" the voice cooed, catching his attention. How did he know his name? Sam finally opened his eyes, gazing into pale blue orbs. The man, kneeling on the ground before him, was short in stature, with rugged blonde hair and a smile that sent chills up Samuel's spine. He swallowed hard, daring not to believe that this seemingly innocent man carried an aura of darkness about him.

The man in question looked up to the others, speaking in that dark, menacing tongue before a female with short blonde hair and a vicious smile on her ruby red lips stepped forward. The man returned his attention to Sam, smiling gently at him. "Do not fear, Samuel. Meghara will take wonderful care of you, my boy…" the man said, standing before the kneeling prisoner.

Meghara sneered at him, grabbing his elbow and dragging the poor man to his feet. She trudged through the rough landscape, Samuel on her heel as she followed the blonde man and the small gathering of people.

Now Sam had a much better vantage point of his location, his eyes widening at the sight. He was amongst the remains of a massive quarry, metal tools lying about in the dirt where men worked diligently to chip away at the ancient stone. Everywhere they tread, the men and women dropped to their knees in submission to what Sam finally realized was their leader. Their eyes never landed upon the blonde man's face, but many people shot inquisitive glances to the prisoner. But before he could make sense of this, Meghara jerked him violently, disrupting his thoughts as they went.

A man in his late thirties strode up to their leader, bowing to him. "My Lord, Lucifer… we have discovered the thread! Your treasure is being excavated as we speak!"

The man known as Lucifer smiled, patting his follower on the shoulder. "I am well pleased, Alastair. Well pleased indeed. Spread the word, I wish to make an announcement to our clan, concerning our guest…" he added, smiling devilishly at Samuel.

Sam cringed at the attention, wrenching away slightly from their seeking eyes. However, his resistance was short lived as Meghara began her torturous trek in Lucifer's wake to the main circle of their camp.

Upon their arrival, Sam took notice of a new phenomenon. Within the center of the clearing, there lay many strange metallic objects that he had never seen before, metal cylinders with fitted shoulder rests, hollow tipped and dusty from lack of use. Some were smaller than others, shorter in length, nub nosed and darker, while others were more massive, and held strange cartridges on their ends.

As he was escorted to the dais where Lucifer waited, he saw the man, Alastair, tip one over with the hilt of his sword, giving the prisoner a better view of one of the objects. Upon his sight, Samuel's heart dropped heavily into his stomach, cold, hard realization filling his very being. He had studied these objects in the history books during their travels, fearing and relieved that such devastating objects had been lost to time. It seemed that these people had discovered their secret; their potential, and from the massive quantities of items lay strewn on the dirt, they were collecting them in bulk for God knows what purpose.

They were guns.

Sam's eyes locked on the weaponry, taking no notice to the people gathering about him as they stood before their leader, waiting for him to speak. A lull broke in their murmurings as Lucifer raised his hand to silence them. At the suddenly deafening hush, Sam finally broke his attention from the weaponry and gazed upon their leader, eyes wide as he awaited his announcement.

"My faithful followers, your hard work has paid off. We will soon have enough strength behind our forces to once and for all eradicate our enemies, the most hated Enochians." At the cheer that rose up, Sam's blood turned cold, but Lucifer was not finished.

"As you can see, we have a… very special guest amongst us now. The prodigal son has returned to us finally. Our forces are complete, and the prophecy is nigh. Welcome our dear Samuel Winchester."

The cheer rose up again, the Daemons crying out in joy for their returned prophesized. Lucifer nodded, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. The young Winchester's head reeled at this revelation, realizing that Zachariah's words hung too true in the air of his memory. He almost did not hear the words Lucifer spoke next:

"Welcome home."

* * *

Dean dismounted Impala quickly, storming into the clearing they had secured for the night. He paid no heed to Castiel as the mage took the black mustang's reins and tied them off near to Iofiel and Gabriel's stand, securing the horses for the time being. Neither of them had spoken the entire ride to their current camp, tension hanging in the air thick with a bitterness neither of them wished to acknowledge. Dean's self loathing for leaving his young brother behind to the torments of his kidnappers left an angry taste in the back of his throat, his demeanor sharply contrasted to his normally care-free persona. Castiel understood.

Neither spoke as they prepared the area, the mage setting off to secure their supper while Dean, still recovering from his wound, stayed behind to prepare the fire. He was grateful for this moment of solace. Of course, having Castiel near eased his mind tremendously, but he needed a moment to himself; to contemplate what they would do. The Winchesters' original mission had been sorely disrupted by their stay in the Enochian civilization, but it was a distraction he was not hateful towards. After all, if they had not, they never would have met the mage, and Castiel had turned out to be a great asset to their travels. Of course it wasn't enough to stay his wandering mind. His brother was still missing, due to his carelessness. He would never forgive himself for this.

Dean almost did not notice the presence in the clearing, the mage returning with his kill. Castiel's eyes fell upon the distraught man and he sighed, placing his kill- a young doe- near the fire before whetting the hunting knife. He spoke not a word as he worked.

The bounty hunter finally acknowledged the mage, looking up at him. He opened his mouth to speak, but a finger to his lips silenced him.

"Don't speak…" Castiel replied quietly, staring into his eyes. They simply gazed at each other for a moment before the mage broke the silence, returning his attention to the skinning of his prey.

Dean blinked, trying to clear his head. He touched a tentative finger to his lips, licking the chapped surfaces before he was able to fully comprehend what had just happened. He wanted to inquire… but Castiel had requested silence. He'd bide by this.

"I will perform a fire ritual this evening… it is the summer solstice after all…" Castiel mentioned finally, discarding the unusable entrails before spitting the meat and suspending it over the fire.

This got Dean's attention. "A fire ritual…" he murmured, rolling the thought around his mind. How he wished to see such an event, but… Castiel's words echoed in memory: _unwanted eyes are put out violently. _If he were not permitted to view such a thing, he risked his own safety as well as the trust between him and the mage. After all, this was Cas. He'd abide by these wishes.

Before long, the cheery crackling of the fire filled the too-still air around them, casting shadows along the ground as the two men sat together, gazing into the amber depths. Dean almost felt spoiled at this. It was rare for the Winchesters to imbibe in venison. The meat was sweet yet slightly musky, filling his belly as he ate the majority of the food. Castiel, on the other hand, barely ate any, shoving the roasted stripes of flesh towards the bounty hunter.

"Why is it that you do not join me in such a meal as this, Castiel?" Dean asked around a mouthful of venison, staring at the mage.

Castiel only shrugged his shoulders noncommittally, staring at the fire. "I cannot partake in food before a fire ritual. The events would be tainted by such an earthly indulgence. However… I do require that you forfeit your whiskey." At the slightly defensive look cast in his direction, Castiel sighed. "I require it to… prepare myself for the fire ritual."

"Prepare… prepare as in how?" Dean pressed, turning to face his companion fully. His eyes roamed the sharp features, severely contrasted in the low light of the fire, making him look hawkish… captivating… very dangerous and utterly beautiful.

He barely noticed the movement below his peripheral as Castiel placed a small object in his hand, closing his fist loosely around it as his sapphire eyes bore into mossy green. "Take it if you will, Dean. If you do, join me at high moon to partake in the fire ritual. If you do not take it, I cannot permit you to safely observe. As it is so." And without another word, Castiel removed his hands from Dean's, slipping something into his mouth and taking a heavy swig from the flask. Just as quickly as this was done, he vanished into the trees, leaving Dean to his thoughts.

Dean glanced down at his loose fist, opening his fingers gently. In his palm there sat a small amount of dried leaves and what appeared to be an apothecary's crushed powders, formed into a tiny pellet. It smelled oddly alluring, such a seemingly innocent thing in the palm of his hand. It did not take long before Dean realized that Castiel had taken one of these items just now, swallowing it down with the whiskey before departing from the clearing.

The options weighed before him. Resist taking the pill and remain by himself in the clearing with nothing but the horses as his companions… or take it and join his companion in a sacred Enochian tradition… if only to remain by his side.

Dean wasn't sure if his mind hadn't been made up for him.

* * *

The embers of the fire burned low, casting tantalizing shadows on the trees above him. Dean lay next to the waning fire, arms and legs limp as he stared up at the sky above him, slack jawed and disoriented. Pupils blown wide, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow, he turned his head with great difficulty, looking into the glowing remains of the fire. Every sight, every crackle of burnt wood, red hot and steaming, twisted and warped in his senses, striking him like a bell in a clear night. He chuckled quietly, the laugh quickly morphing into a frantic, high pitched giggle of mirth, wracking his body as he struggled to a sitting position. He was hot… very hot. Dean staggered to his feet, looking into the depths of a dead blaze, lifting a shaky hand to point almost accusingly at it. "You have left me…" he slurred, giggling throughout his words. "You have left me ju-… just as Samuel has… I must… find Castiel."

He staggered away from the pit, seeing the horses gathered by the tree line. He slung an arm low around Gabriel's neck, leaning in closer to the horse. "The stars spoke! High moon… I must see to the fire…" he said, gazing at the horse. What colors visible in the dark swirled and coalesced in his vision, morphing simple images into great visions of his intoxication.

Gabriel whickered to the hallucinating man, tossing his head impatiently as the inebriated man leaned back, tugging ruefully on his mane. "I thank you for nothing, you ignorant beastie!" Dean laughed, nudging his snout before crashing drunkenly through the trees.

As he wandered, the sounds of the forest grew ever softer, as if the very beasts of the trees knew he was invading their peaceful night. Dean glanced about the trees with a new sense of curiosity, almost childish in his state.

For the briefest of moments, he feared that he would lose himself to the trees and never find his way back to Castiel, but soon these fears were banished. A soft glow emanated from the trees off to his left, sending dancing glows of red and orange through the deep foliage of the night. Dean turned, his eyes locking on the sight of distant glow, the cracklings of a fresh fire finally reaching his ears as they were.

"Cas?" Dean called, leaning against a tree for support. No response. The hunter swallowed, a wave of slight nausea rolling his stomach before he found it in his will to stave off the swell of illness in his belly. Taking great breaths, Dean leaned away from the tree, trying almost desperately to see through the trees to the source of the light.

Indeed, the light was dim, yet harbored a warm sensation in the back of his mind that had nothing to do with his intoxication. It felt as if he were being drawn towards the fire. The realization clutched his heart, and he blinked, trying to fathom just why he felt this strong urge to invade the obviously sacred ritual playing out a mere fifty paces from his place.

It was then the voice floated towards him, seeming to fill the trees with its echoing call; the voice of his mage, filling the trees with ancient words, a long aged tongue that bore power and tenderness at once in its tone.

Dean nodded, releasing his grip from the tree as he marched towards the clearing ahead, drawn by the voice. Every step he took brought a stronger sense of understanding, pride and honor to his heart that he, a mere human, was about to witness such an event as an Enochian ritual… of sorts. He still had no inkling as to what the ritual was for, but he would be damned if he failed to partake as his heart bid him.

After what seemed like ages of walking, Dean broke through the tree line, bloodshot eyes roaming the landscape before landing upon a sight most wondrous to behold. The fire ritual.

A massive bonfire filled the clearing with amber light. Flames licked their way towards the heavens, and before the fire stood Castiel, back turned to the hunter as he presided over the flames. He had shed his tunic, boots and robe, standing before the blazing inferno wearing nothing more than his leggings. Dean watched in awe, his eyes dancing over the massive wing tattoos on his companion's back, as they morphed and bent with his body.

Castiel chanted over and over in his native tongue, arms loose as he ran circles in the air with his hands, open palmed. Each sweep raised another massive flame to the stars above him, the fire spitting and hissing at its handler, yet never flickering to harm him. One pass of his hand brought a palm-full of fine, brown powder from his hip pouch, before he sprinkled the powder into the flames. The reaction was instantaneous; as the fire roared higher, tainted green before settle back down to begin its cycle again.

Dean watched, fascinated by the sight, before he took a tentative step into the clearing, one step; two steps. It almost felt wrong, intruding…

Suddenly the mage turned to the hunter's tentative approach. His eyes, too, were blown wide, blue irises lost to the depth of the drugs ravaging his system. Castiel extended a hand to his companion, smiling slightly. "Deanolo… join me. I beg you." He pleaded, his voice warped and hitching. He almost sounded… frightened? Nervous? Dean could not place the emotion, but did as he was told anyway.

He took the mage's hand, being pulled towards the fire before him. He stared at the embers, feeling a slight pressure on his shoulders as the mage forced him to sit on the cold ground. Once seated, his eyes drifted to the mage's, lost in their swimming, heart-wrenching depths.

Castiel smiled, trailing a hand down the side of Dean's face, before pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. "Observe… only The Companion is allowed to watch." Castiel whispered. At Dean's understanding, Castiel turned back to the fire, performing each motion to the fullest. It seemed as if he wished to impress Dean with the light show, drawing his rapture closer and closer to the scene before him until Dean was lost to his will. Castiel glanced over his shoulder at Dean, smiling at him.

Cross-legged, Dean perched on the ground beneath him, jaw slacked open as he gazed upon his companion… his partner's form. Sinewy frame moved under taut skin, flowing like liquid under his every action. It was utterly beautiful. The sense of admiration struck a chord of familiarity in his heart as he watched, realizing just exactly what he had gotten himself into.

The weeks of travel; his first instincts upon sight of the mage during the slaying of the Wendigo; the sense of belonging and protection he felt every time the mage shifted in his sleep and mistakenly rolled into his bedding; the flutter of his heart every time Castiel smiled that brilliant smile, or when those sapphire orbs twinkled with mirth. Never had he understood the meaning of this word, but once it found its place, firmly imbedded in the strings of his heart, he wondered exactly how he could have lived without its warming touch for so long.

Love.

That one word wrenched his heart as he struggled to breath. A glowing smile spread across his face as he watched the mage perform the dance of his elders to the flames, the words of his sacred lineage ringing in his ears as he listened.

Castiel's voice rose to a crescendo, the ancient tongue echoing amongst the trees as he extended his arms to the sky, a final flare of the inferno filling the clearing with a burst of white-hot light, flames engulfing the air around him. As Dean watched, he could swear he saw the flames encase his partner, great wings stretching beyond him to graze the trees above before the entirety of the bonfire collapsed upon itself, leaving nothing but an ethereal glow in its wake.

Dean struggled to breathe, watching enraptured as Castiel turned to face him fully, the soft lighting sending chills rolling down their spines. The mage gently knelt before Dean, reaching a tentative hand out to him. "Dean… I bid you. Open your heart and find what you truly seek." He whispered, pressing ever closer into the bounty hunter's space.

Dean nodded, closing his eyes. He breathed slow, gulping breaths, reaching into his own soul. He knew what he wanted… what he had been part of for weeks and hadn't even realized. With a gentle nod, he opened his eyes, staring into seeking orbs.

Castiel gasped, the shock of realization slamming headlong into his senses as he staggered back. It all came rushing into his consciousness, memories and sensations coalescing into one rolling form. The aura. He remembered the aura; the heat and passion that he had sensed during his initiation into the warrior's class. It was the aura of his soul mate, but Annahriel's attendance at his side had confused him. He realized almost too late. It was not Annahriel's aura that had sealed his heart and his love.

It was Dean's.

"It is you…" Castiel gasped, trembling hands reaching to gently cup Dean's face in his palms. "You are my soul mate."

The words slammed into Dean's heart, filling his very being with a great passion he had never felt in his life. "But… how could this be? Annahriel is your mate…"

Before Dean could continue, however, Castiel placed a finger to his lips, silencing him. "The bonded mate is determined by their compatible auras. Annahriel was only selected to wed myself because our souls were most compatible; not a perfect match. You… you are my other half, my destined one." Pausing, Castiel blushed, looking down at his own hands. "It is not orthodox for two persons of different species to be compatible, much less two males… but it is possible."

Dean slipped a finger underneath Castiel's chin, tilting his head to peer into his eyes once again. "Castiel… I have felt it too. I have never felt this passion for another person in my life. With you, I feel complete…" At his words, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to Castiel's. "Allow me to be yours and I offer myself entirely to you. Castiel… I do believe I love you. Eternally."

Castiel smiled, leaning in to breach the last of the distance between them. Tentative lips brushed, testing; tasting the other's essence. The mage's eyes drifted shut, finally gaining the courage he sought to deepen the kiss.

Dean went pliant, allowing the gentle sweeping of the mage's tongue to probe his mouth, tasting him and drawing his aura ever closer to his own being. A slight moan escaped his lips as he pressed forward, hands snaking around the mage's bare shoulders to draw him closer.

Castiel complied, scooting over towards Dean until they were nearly within the other's lap. Deft fingers undid the ties of Dean's tunic, pulling the cloth free from his body. Low lighting caught in each groove of the men's muscles, contrasting against the milky plains of their chests. The air grew hot and heavy around them, sweat beading on their skin to pool in crevices, slicking their touches as they pressed firmer together.

Suddenly Castiel pulled away, reaching for a pouch discarded on the ground. He opened it and pressed his hand into the powder within, drawing it out quickly. Stuck to his palm were tiny granules of red powder. He turned to Dean and held the bag open to him. "Press your hand into the powder, palm first until the skin is coated in it. Then remove your hand." He ordered. Without question, Dean complied.

Once the two were of their designated amount, Castiel returned his attention to the bounty hunter, pressing into the kiss once again, this time with added fervor. With his untainted hand, he pressed Dean back to the underbrush, laying him out underneath him gently.

Dean went limp against the ground, lying wantonly on the mossy floor. He smiled up at Castiel, his free hand tracing patterns over the sensitive skin of the mage's belly, just above the leggings. Castiel shivered, letting out another moan as he made quick work of Dean's own trousers.

Discarded, the clothing lay in heaping piles not too far from their position, leaving Dean fully exposed to the mage.

"I highly doubt this is fair, Cas." The bounty hunter laughed, eyes drifting to the magician's own leggings.

With a seductive nod, Castiel shed the remainder of his clothing, stark nudity sending chills through his body as the cold night air whipped against his fevered skin. He straddled Dean's body, leaning over him possessively. "Be mine, Deanolo. As we are destined to be, bond with mine own life, and be forever of one aura."

Dean nodded, wrapping his arms around Castiel's waist, pressing their exposed lengths together in fiery touch. "Yes… yes, I give myself to you…" He gasped, unable to stay the rutting of his own hips against the mage's, causing a tight friction between them.

Castiel's head fell back, a tight groan raking against his throat at the heated sensations, fire curling in the pit of his stomach. His mind swimming, he bit his lower lip and looked down at Dean, eyes blazing with lust and passion. "And I give myself to you, Deanolo. Find your point of bonding, and join me in corporeal and spiritual connection."

Dean paused momentarily, his still inebriated mind not comprehending what Castiel meant by that. Point of bonding? It made no sense. However, he did not have time to try and understand, feeling Castiel press heated kisses to his neck, nipping at the skin firmly.

Dean gasped, hands gripping the other's hips as he rocked into him roughly, seeking heat and friction as their actions grew more and more fevered. It was almost more than he could bear. Wrecked moans escaping his lips, he turned and captured the mage's lips in his own, nipping the skin until the flesh bruised and swelled, turning red and wet with his saliva. He looked absolutely divine.

"Cas… please…" he begged, eyes wide and pleading.

The mage nodded, raising his left hand before the hunter's own swollen lips. Pressing two digits in between those lips, he bid Dean to suck, thoroughly wetting his fingers.

Dean nodded, suckling the fingers within his mouth. He rolled his tongue around the wet digits, eliciting a moan from the mage, as he felt his already stiff member harden indefinitely. They were beginning to lose themselves to the moment, wrapped up in a lover's embrace.

Deeming the fingers wet enough, Castiel removed them from Dean's mouth, and slithered his hand down Dean's body, stopping to rest on the inner portion of his thigh, warm skin against cool, wet skin.

Dean shivered, rocking his hips up against his lover's hand, staring into iridescent blue eyes eagerly. "Do it. I bid you… please…" It was all the persuasion Castiel needed.

Nodding, Castiel's hand slipped underneath Dean's hips, index finger pressing against heated opening, teasing the hole gently. Dean grunted, rocking his hips forcefully back against the prodding fingers. "Kiss me."

Again, Castiel nodded, a smile of delight and love dancing at the corners of his mouth. He kissed Dean passionately, while pressing his finger into him to the first knuckle. The warmth of his lover's body, the tightness of his opening clamping down to nearly rejection stayed him, and his eyes glanced downward worriedly.

Despite his initial discomfort, Dean shook his head, turning the mage's head to face him. "Please… I wish it to continue." He hissed, willing himself to relax.

Castiel, although unsure, proceeded to work Dean open with a second digit, scissoring his fingers gently to loosen the ring encasing his fingers. Now that Dean was more adequately prepared, he watched in wonder as the hunter went limp in his arms, lusty moans echoing deeply in his chest as he thrust his hips back against the seeking fingers.

Cas smiled, pressing a third finger into him, preparing him well before a suddenly jolt around him gave him pause. He had pressed against that bundle of nerves within Dean that had the hunter seeing stars.

"Oh gods, Cas do that again!" he begged, staring up at Castiel with wide eyes. He nodded his head feverishly, urging the mage to continue. Instead, Castiel removed his hand from his position, and pressed his lips to Dean's forehead.

Castiel laughed slightly at the disappointed noise emanating from Dean's throat. "Be patient…" he whispered, staring into his eyes.

Unsure of what to make of this turn of events, Dean nodded and relaxed. He did not have to wait long. The presence of Castiel pushing slowly into him jerked him from his revere, and his grip tightened on Castiel's hips. "Cas… please… I need more!"

The mage needed no other bidding. Slow and deliberate, he fully sheathed himself into Dean's body, hand firmly gripping his shoulder as he supported himself above the hunter. Shivering violently, he leaned down to press a sweaty kiss to Dean's forehead.

"Move." Dean rasped, biting down onto Castiel's collarbone hard enough to break the skin.

Castiel panted heavily, beginning a slow rhythm of thrusts into his lover's body. Again, and again, he brushed against that most sought spot within him, bringing the both of them closer towards imminent climax.

Dean groaned wantonly, wrapping his legs around Castiel's waist as his lover impaled him repeatedly. The pleasure coursed through his body, turning his mind inside out as the drugs warped and heightened every sensation. A great heat filled their bodies, seeming to meld them as one, the cold night air doing nothing to cool the two of them down.

"Dean…" Castiel gasped, eyes locking, pupils blown wide and lust-crazed. He screamed suddenly, feeling Dean's teeth graze a pert nipple on his bare chest before laving at the Enochian symbol burnt into his chest. "Dean!"

The heat was growing to be too much. Both men, bound in their pleasure build kissed passionately, tongues dancing heatedly as their climax drew near. Castiel, using his free hand to support himself, wished he could do something; to touch Dean's body intimately… but the hand on his shoulder stayed rooted in place, and he found he was unable to move it at all.

Dean, too, found he could not remove his hand from Castiel's hip, but his wrecked mind paid no attention to it. He was too consumed by this fire to notice. His free hand snaked in between their bodies to grip his hardened length firmly, pumping hard to match pace with his lover's thrusts.

There was no going back. Lip-locked, firmly pressed together and coupling as they were meant to, the couple reached their climax simultaneously, screaming their names to the heavens as they came. Spurts of their seed coated and filled the other, marking each as his and his alone.

But then, a curious thing happened. The fire that had filled their blood before began to concentrate on the areas gripped by the powdered hands. It felt as if their hands seared to their bodies, flames licking the skin and causing the two to cry out in both ecstasy and pain.

The moments passed, throbbing pain and heat burning the spots of contact until in a great wave, the pain and heat passed. In this instant, both men collapsed onto each other, panting heavily, sweat slicked and used.

Castiel was the first to move. He lifted his head gently, careful to brush his cheek alongside Dean's in a comforting, affectionate touch. They gazed into each other's eyes, smiling widely as they realized they had crossed that line… and were more than happy.

Castiel tentatively removed his hand from Dean's left shoulder, staring in awe at the red handprint seared into his skin. He, too, sported a hand print on his left hip, red and raw and just Dean's size. He smiled, realizing that the soul bonding had been successful and that they were now bound to each other for eternity. "My love… we are one." He said quietly, pulling off of Dean gently.

Dean stared at the hand print –his hand print- on Castiel's hip, realizing just what happened. "We belong to each other." He breathed, curling instinctively around his partner. He couldn't help the smile that spread across his face as he buried it in the crook of the mage's warm neck.

Carding his fingers through Dean's hair, Castiel nodded, staring up at the skies. "Yes. We are one. Please rest, Deanolo… the soul bonding is terribly strenuous. You must take your rest." He worried incessantly over Dean, the drugs being new to his body and his nudity in the cold night. Grabbing the robe, he cloaked it over himself and his lover, shielding them from the elements.

And without another word, the two curled into each other, covered only by Castiel's tanned robe. The soul mates having finally become one under the stars of their gods. The night was perfect… too perfect.

Neither of them wished to think it, but: what was to become of Castiel's betrothed?

* * *

_The night was dark, wind whipping through the trees in a howling cry, filling the very air with a sense of foreboding. They were coming… coming for them. The battle was soon to begin…_

_Figures whipped through the trees, nary making a sound. He looked around wildly, desperately trying to pinpoint their location. No such luck. They were surrounded. _

"_LEAVE HIM BE, HE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU! IT IS ME YOU WANT!" he shouted, voice echoing through the trees. _

_It was not enough. The figures attacked, drawing in from all sides. There was no possible way…_

"_GO! DEAN GO!" he shouted, urging him to escape whilst he still had a chance. The look of longing in his eyes tore his heart to pieces, but it would have to wait. "I said go! Find him! Find him before it' is too late to save your brother!"_

_Find who? The words sounded familiar, yet in no way had he ever uttered them. What was this? He did not understand. _

_Chaos filled the trees around him, shouts of anger, and sharp hurts to his person. They were taking his away. They were taking him away from Dean. No, he cannot let that happen! _

_But Dean… Dean was safe. He was not in harm's way. He was off. Searching. Searching for… who? _

_The words rolled in his mind, adding to the confused, the chaos surrounding him. They were taking him. Taking him away to an unknown fate. Faces floated in his mind's eye, unbidden and terrifying. Anger, hatred, shame._

_He had betrayed them. Betrayed the Enochian way of life. He had betrayed Annahriel… his leaders. The Father. And all of it for Dean._

_Well, fuck them. Not in millennia would he allow them to harm his mate. He fought them, desperately, buying time for his lover to escape to find him. Find him Dean! Find him and stop the war._

_Pain lanced through him, such as he had never felt. It seemed as if his very life source were being ripped from his physical form, and torn to pieces before his eyes… his blood filled eyes. Were he to die? He had no way of knowing. But he saved Dean… and that's all that mattered. He gave him a chance to escape, to stop…_

_Find him!_

_Singer…_

Castiel bolted upright, gasping for air. The air was silent, surrounding him like a shroud. Swallowing great lung-fuls of air, he glanced down to his sleeping partner, hoping his outburst had no woken him.

No. Dean slept on, peaceful as always. However, the lack of warmth became apparent as he curled into Castiel's side once again.

The sight would have normally warmed his heart, but the mage knew this happiness would be short lived. They were coming; every day closer, and still his brother's life hung in the balance.

Dean needed to find his guardian. His mentor. He needed to find…

"Robert Singer…"

* * *

TBC


	7. His Fate is Sealed

Chapter 7

Zachariah paced before the grand windows, awaiting the return of his young messenger. Several days prior, he had sent his ward out on a quest to track down the rogue Enochian warrior and his companions. The scouting had stretched for far too long, giving doubt to the validity of his quest. Having not the patience any longer, he found his temper wearing thin as the minutes crept by, further distancing himself from his potential success.

Now, as night fell heavy upon the land, it seemed that yet another day would pass without word on the whereabouts of their potential prisoners. Just as he felt he could bear the wait no longer, a frantic knock grabbed his attention, the double doors swinging open as a young boy of no more than 13 sun cycles burst into the room. "My lord! I bring news!" he gasped, dropping down into a submissive bow before the elder Enochian.

Zachariah turned to the boy, raising a hand to stay him. "Gather your wits boy, but be quick!" he spat, uncaring of his condition as he watched the youth splutter before him. When it seemed that he had finally caught his breath, he bade him continue.

"My lord, the rebel has been spotted in the western quadrants, just beyond the Aequiis River. He travels with one other- the eldest Winchester. Samuel is not amongst them…"

Zachariah spat angrily, twisting his fists into the silky folds of his robe. "Bah! Damn it all… the Daemons have already taken him…"

The messenger watched helplessly as his master deliberated with himself, fiddling anxiously with the ends of his belt. "What shall we do, My Lord? The Prophecy…"

"I FULLY UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF THE PROPHECY, BOY!" Zachariah growled, rounding on him as he clutched the collar of his tunic. He watched with a deep-seeded, sick satisfaction as the boy cringed from his touch, fearing whatever punishment he would receive for questioning his superior.

Zachariah settled after a few moments, however, releasing the boy as he straightened up slightly, smoothing his own robe with an oddly calm hand. "It is of no matter… I thank you, for your information. Be on your way, I have much work to do now."

The messenger simply nodded, finding stride from the room as quickly as he dared to move before his master's watchful eye. Once clear of his gaze, the boy sped off, terrified that his lingering presence would further aggravate Zachariah's mood. He feared being along with his temper for longer than necessary.

Zachariah watched the boy flee before turning away from the open door. However, instead of anger, he felt an odd swell of an unnamed emotion fill his chest as he gathered himself before making his exit. He knew exactly where to go now; this new development was highly imperative to their mission.

Zachariah strode confidently to the mother hall, entering without a second thought to find The Father and Michael together, as usual. The younger Enochian lord glanced up from his maps, noticing Zachariah as he rose to his feet, hand clasped gently on their leader's shoulder. "Zachariah, I sense a new development from you. What news do you bring us this night?"

"Only that our time is nigh. The rebel has been spotted near the Aequiis River. He is alone, aside from one Winchester. The younger sibling is already taken by the enemy."

Michael sighed, running a hand through his sandy hair with great duress. However, just as he moved to respond, a hand clasped his elbow, drawing his attention away from his companion. The Father insisted he listen, pulling him rather forcefully to meet eye level with the black veil.

Zachariah waited patiently as Michael listened to their leader's hushed words, taking in his orders. Zachariah smiled to see Michael suddenly brighten considerably by whatever The Father had bidden for them. With a clearing of his throat, Michael straightened up, smirking to his companion.

"With one less nuisance to stop us, we will easily bring Castiel down to his own submission. Once he too is out of the way, we will easily persuade Dean to seek reason and join our side. It will not be difficult… he is suffering the guilt of one loss already… a second will only catalyze our plot further."

Zachariah's eyes landed on The Father's veiled façade, the smile only widening as he gathered this information. Despite the past minor setbacks, it seemed only in their favor. "Very good… has it been decided how the traitor will be punished?"

"If there is any justice, it will be slow and painful indeed!" an angered voice spat from the opposing side of the room. All eyes turned to land on the newcomer, unsurprised to find Annahriel in its place. "He has wrong the entirety of our culture… abandoned me at the altar… and now…" she paused, her face a mask of anger and distress. "… he has betrayed our safety and endangered our people. Soul mate or not, he must be stopped." As she spoke, she strode into the room; standing by her superior's side. With a slight nod, she acknowledged The Father before proceeding. "If it is at all permissible, I wish to be present when he is arrested. After all…" and here, she gazed upon The Father directly, unafraid. "… it is only for the good of our people."

Michael smiled sadly at Annahriel, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I mourn your misfortune, my dear; but we shall be fetching him from the outer boundaries of our lands…" Michael place a finger to her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his. "It is best if you remain here for the time being."

Annahriel's eyes glazed in disappointment, but per her superior's wishes, she ceded. "Very good…" she sighed, stepping back as her head bowed in submission.

Zachariah, too, bowed in submission, casting his eyes upon Michael one last time. "Shall I rally the warriors for the arrest, my liege?"

Michael nodded, offering his arm to the eldest Enochian as The Father stood slowly. "Indeed, rally the troops. We shall task the arrest tomorrow morning." Guiding The Father tenderly, he shot Zachariah a cold, emotionless expression to mask his intent. "Castiel shall suffer greatly for his crime. He is no warrior of our class… or our ally. His status shall be stripped and his dignity shattered. Castiel is dead to us…"

* * *

The morning rose bleak and foggy, unlike the day previous. Dean stretched sore muscles, stiff from the damp cold, before sitting up with an air of confusion on his brow. Castiel was nowhere to be found.

"Cas?" Dean called into the mist, dressing quickly to ward off the piercing chill of the early morning air. He hissed at the sting on his shoulder, glancing down in slightly confusion. He did not understand why his shoulder would hurt him so badly, but a quick observation sparked his memory.

The events of the night before flooded his mind's eye, a smile of contentment gracing his lips. Castiel was his soul mate… his bonded partner for the rest of his days. How he wished he could spend just a few more moments wrapped up in his lover's embrace, reveling in their recent communion. "Castiel, you fox. Join me in this fine morning." He laughed, standing as he cinched the belt around his waist.

But when no response came, Dean's demeanor darkened as he glanced about the foggy clearing. "Castiel? Where are you?" he called, turning towards the dampened fire pit. Beside the pit lay the powder urn, still stained from their use, and various useless flint. None of Castiel's clothing remained where they had been discarded during their bonding.

Just as he feared he had been abandoned- left behind in a thrill of regret from their recent love making- Dean heard a disturbance from the other side of the clearing and turned to see Castiel emerge from the tree line. The mage's face appeared shadowed, distraught; looking far worse than one should in such a situation. "Castiel, you are troubled… my love, what is it?" Dean asked, striding quickly to his partner's side. He placed a hand to his shoulder, hoping to offer some sort of comfort in the mage's distress.

Castiel, seeming half attentive, jolted at the touch, eyes meeting Dean's for the first time all morning. "Dean… I am sorry, it is…" he paused, weighing his options quickly. It seemed that no way he could tell Dean of his vision would seem a soft blow to the situation. It seemed that it would be best if he simply told him.

"Dean… we must leave this area quickly. It is not safe for us to remain here in this place."

Dean frowned, taking his lover's hands into his own. "Castiel, what is the meaning of this?" eyes locked as he pleaded for an answer. The sooner he understood the better.

Castiel simply shook his head, guiding Deanolo from the clearing. "There is no time, we have already wasted valuable moments bantering. Come, we must gather the horses and be on our way."

Dean growled low in his chest, standing firm. "No, Castiel. I will not move until I receive valid reasons for your behavior. You act as if we are in imminent danger, yet you refuse to explain yourself to me." Dean stubbornly crossed his arms, glaring at the mage with an air of authority.

Castiel glanced over his shoulder, as if expecting to see whatever it was that had put him on such an edge, before sighing. "If you must know… Dean, I fear that we have been followed for quite some time. We are still within outer Enochian territory, and we can still easily be found. The ritual last night may have acted as a beacon for our enemy, although I had done my best to cloak the aura from prying eyes. If we do not hurry, we shall surely be ambushed."

Deanolo's eyes widened slightly at the realization, nodding his head quickly. "Indeed, this is dreadful news. I shall gather the horses and return to this spot. Keep yourself on the alert; Heaven help us if they are swifter than we hope." And without another word, Dean returned to the opposing clearing, reigning in Impala and gathering Iofiel and Gabriel. He knew they were in great danger, when even Gabriel seemed on edge. The chestnut brayed quietly, tossing his head as he pawed the ground anxiously.

"Come, Gabriel, be quick about it." Dean hushed, running his fingers through the tan mane. The handprint on his shoulder tingled somewhat, sending a thrill of anxiety through his person. He only hoped that it was simply his nerves catching up with him…

* * *

Within the dark of the trees, silent figures gathered. They never spoke, using body language to communicate before the ambush. It wouldn't be long now.

Despite the relative distance from the community, it had taken a surprisingly short amount of time to reach the Aequiis River and discover the whereabouts of their intended prey. Two Enochian guards flanked the trees, all eyes locked on the tense form of their prisoner in the clearing, awaiting the perfect opportunity to ambush him. Alas, the Winchester in question was nowhere to be found, but they would not be errantly picky. At least they would be able to complete the arrest as per Michael and Zachariah.

One guard raised a hand, stilling the entire ambush party behind him. Castiel must have sensed their presence, for his eyes locked on their portion of the tree line, daring not to move. It was now or never; attack and succeed or hesitate and fail.

And in the Enochian code, failure was not an option.

Said guard drew his sword, motioning for the others to follow suit. With a final nod, he bid the ambush arrive, as they flooded the clearing.

Then, all hell broke loose.

* * *

Castiel had sensed the ambush well within time to escape. How he wished he could protect himself and Dean from their clutches, but alas, the bonding ceremony had drained his strength the night before, siphoning it into his partner as he bound their souls together. Drawing attention to their intended ambush would only further damage their chances; he only hoped that Dean would remain where he was, or make his escape. Gripping his pommel firmly, Castiel awaited their attack… the attack he had seen the night before.

Turning, he locked eyes with their location, daring them to step forward. However, he did not draw his sword; that would only call grounds for an open counter strike, most unnecessary to their cause. The flickering of movement within the trees spurred his adrenaline, as he stood in bated breath, praying _'Do not return, not now Deanolo… please… flee…'_

It was not to be.

Just as the Enochian guards attacked, Dean burst into the clearing, sword drawn to attack. War cries filled the chill morning air, birds taking flight in their fear. Time seemed to slow as Dean charged the impending warriors, his fair face a mask of pure anger, dark blood lust for the fight to come.

No… this was not Deanolo's fight. The Enochians could not have him for their grand scheme. If they wanted his own person, they could have it. They would never lay their hands upon his mate.

Castiel turned to Dean, his own sword drawn for the fight. "LEAVE HIM BE, HE HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH YOU! IT IS ME YOU WANT!" he shouted, voice echoing through the eerie his words rang, sending a chill down his spine.

Yet his words had the desired effect. With this distraction, he managed to position himself between Dean and their impending foes. "GO! DEAN GO!" he shouted, urging him to escape whilst he still had a chance. The look of longing in his eyes tore his heart to pieces, but it would have to wait. "I said go! Find him! Find him before it' is too late to save your brother!"

Dean blanched, unable to find his tongue. How could he abandon Castiel to the torments of the Enochians? It was absurd!

However, the longer they hesitated, the closer each hand of their enemy landed, narrowing their chance of escape. The time for deliberation was long past… "Castiel, I will not leave you!" he insisted, hand firm on his lover's shoulder, before he parried the blow of a particularly large guard, the two fighting against many.

The endearment struck true, as Castiel faced Dean for a final moment. Eyes locked, words unspoken filled the air tainted by the din of the Enochians. The honor and love in his partner's eyes nearly undid the young mage, but his willingness to protect his soul partner won out. "No, Dean. You must go! Find Robert Singer, and save your brother…" And without another word, Castiel pressed his palm to Dean's chest, using the last of his strength to banish the protesting hunter from the clearing, far from the clutches of his brethren.

The banishing spell drained Castiel as he collapsed to his knees, sword falling from his hand uselessly. It did not take long before the guards were upon his form, binding his arms painfully to prevent further struggle.

Not that Castiel would provide much of a fight. He had done his job; Dean was safe from their clutches. Casting a defiant eye to them, he steeled his jaw, as the head guard, a young man by the name of Israfil, leered at him. Gripping his chin firmly, the guard forced Castiel to meet his gaze.

"You're time has come, traitor…" Israfil hissed, a smile of dark intent marring his young face.

Castiel said nothing in return, fully prepared to accept his fate. He only hoped Deanolo was successful…

* * *

Deanolo felt the world swirl around him as he felt Castiel cast his spell. He felt ill for the briefest of moments before blessed ground found his feet and he collapsed in a shivering heap on the hay strewn ground.

Gasping for air, Dean struggled to his feet again, catching his bearings quickly. He had most certainly been sent far from the war site, left alone with one message he did not understand. "How… Castiel how could you…" he whispered as realization settled in the pit of his stomach. Castiel had sent him away, fending off a whole party of mages on his own… he'd never survive.

"Damn it… Castiel you stupid lummox! How the fuck could you do this?" Dean shouted, unshed tears of frustration filling his eyes as he called to the early morning air. He felt the guilt of his abandonment fill his heart, weighing him from coherent thought. He trailed his hand to his marred shoulder, willing that he sense Castiel's safety, on a hope and a prayer.

Nothing.

"FUCK!" Dean cursed, throwing his sword to the ground and fisting his hair in frustration. If only he were there…

"Why isn't it a bit early for such a tyrad, Deanolo? For shame… the maturity of your kind astounds me at times…" a droll voice lilted lazily through the air.

Deanolo whipped about, eyes locked to the form that had so successfully approached him without his knowing. Eyes widened at the sight, a rock of icy cold dread falling to his stomach as he swallowed, sought his words and gasped. "Crowley…"

The thief smirked, striding forward in confident steps. His eyes never left Dean's as he approached him. However, this was not the same man Dean had encountered on so many other occasions. Something was immensely wrong.

"Crowley… what is this? You are not as you appear…" Dean hissed, growing suspicious as he fingered the dagger on his hip warily. This was no mere man…

"Finally, you have figured this out. I was beginning to wonder how long it would take for you to realize my true nature…" the thief murmured, eyes shading into dark coals, that sarcastic smile fading from his lips.

Deanolo reeled back at the sight, heart hammering nervously in his chest. "W-what… what are you?" he gasped, staggering back from his adversary.

Crowley sighed, suddenly returning to his nonchalant demeanor, glancing at his nails with an air of boredom on his face. "Oh I am sure you are familiar with my kind… the Enochians have poisoned our culture for far too long…"

Dean spat angrily, "Of course! A Daemon. I would have known better, Crowley." Now more confident, Dean stood his ground, awaiting the finishing blow that was to come. "I have no fear of you, Daemon. Strike now and destroy me before your people are eradicated by my hand!"

Crowley simply laughed, waving his threat off with a care-free hand. "But you would not listen to my story? How I abandoned my people for a simpler life as a thief? Of how your village was destroyed by the very people I left in the hopes of preventing what is this very day happening? Or how your precious soul mate had a vision of this very day?" Crowley met Dean's eyes once again, the smile deepening in triumph. "Does the name Robert Singer ring any bells, Deanolo?"

Deanolo was stunned. How could Crowley know of this if he were merely a bystander in such events? "How do you know of Robert Singer, when I only became aware of the existence of such a man only minutes before?" he demanded, still untrustworthy of this Daemon.

Crowley raised a hand to him, pressing it to Dean's forehead without a word. For the second time that morning, Dean was transported from the empty field to the lands of an old, worn down inn along the abandoned highway of merchants long past. Dean staved off the dizzying, nauseating sensation as he pressed his palms to his knees, breathing deeply to ward off the sickness. "I do insist that you warn me ahead of time before you go poofing me across the country side!" he gasped, running his hand over his sweaty face as the waves of nausea subsided.

Crowley ignored him, striding confidently to the run down inn before rapping sharply on the door. "Be still, Deanolo. You wanted answers, you shall get them!" he spat over his shoulder, waiting for an answer.

Dean stared at the door as the moments crept by, wondering if any inhabited the place. "Crowley… explain yourself. Why did you leave the Daemons? What the fuck is going on?"

However, before he could receive his answer, the door creaked open, revealing the form of a young girl with flaxen hair and a proud face. The girl crossed her arms, glaring at Crowley before her eyes landed on the form behind him. "Crowley, what is the meaning of this? You know mother and Robert do not approve of your so-called destiny-mongers!"

Crowley smiled at the girl, patting her shoulder affectionately. "Ah, Joanna I see you are still sore over my last return. There is no need to fret, however. This man is the real deal." Before Joanna could respond, Crowley bustled his way into the inn, motioning for Deanolo to follow. "Now where is the old man? I wish to introduce my friend!"

Joanna kept her eyes on Dean, as she led him into the inn. "He is in his study, as usual, Crowley. In all honest I would have thought you would understand his routine by now."

Dean, bewildered by the change of events, simply followed dumbly, mouth agape as he took in the sight of the inn. The place was indeed run down, boards loose, dark swollen wood and dim lanterns, most of them cracked and worn.

"Yes, yes Joanna. Just go fetch him. It is of great importance!" Crowley snapped, crossing his arms stubbornly. The two locked eyes for a moment before Joanna finally gave up, storming from the room. Crowley brightened immediately, smiling at the still-stricken Dean. "Oh come now, Dean. Do you not realize the implications of this situation! You shall finally change the world, as you had hoped to do. It is a great accomplishment! Be merry!"

Dean stared at the Daemon, ignoring the proffered drink as he waited for his questions to be answered. It was all happening so fast… he barely had time to register any of this. "But…"

"Crowley! What's this I hear about another one o' yer 'miracle men', boy?" a gruff voice sounded from the hall adjacent to the two of them. Both sets of eyes turned to greet the form of a man, well into his forty sun cycles, enter the room. He wore hunter's clothing, a beard of speckled grey blonde and proud eyes.

Crowley smirked, turning to the man. "I dare say, I believe I have found your hero after all, Singer." With these words, Crowley swept a dramatic arm towards Deanolo, stepping back to allow the two men to glance upon each other.

Robert eyed Dean up, biting his lip with contemplation. "What is yer name, son? Where do you hail from and what is yer mission?"

Dean straightened up, full pride setting in as this hunter questioned him fully. "My name is Deanolo Winchester, hailing from the Great Plains. My home was destroyed many years ago, and… sir, what is the matter?" Dean inquired, seeing the very color drain from Robert's face as he spoke.

Robert spluttered, struggling to find his tongue, as he listened to Deanolo speak. "Deanolo Winchester… of the Plains people… Are you the son of John Winchester?"

"I am indeed…" Dean started, suspicions setting in once again. Something of this situation felt very wrong to the hunter, but before he could voice his worry, he was suddenly swept into a firm embrace, stunned back into silence.

"My boy… it is really you. You are the chosen protector of our people…" Robert whispered, firm embrace warm around the sudden cold of Dean's person as these words sank in fully.

Neither of them heard Crowley, as the Daemon laughed, "I told you that I would find you your destiny-monger!"

* * *

Castiel kept his eyes to the ground, as he was dragged through the underbrush unceremoniously. The guards did not even have the decency to cover his face, his shame written on his features for all to see as he was taken back to his community. Everyone present would see his shame, his betrayal on his sleeve.

He did not care. He had done the right thing; Deanolo was safe. He felt the burn of his handprint scar, signaling the mental distress of his lover, and immediately gave pause. They would find it; they would know. He had not only betrayed his people, he had betrayed his proposal, his betrothed. He felt no guilt, however. Deanolo was his and his alone… and he was Deanolo's.

The scar, however, burned incessantly, and Castiel began to worry for Dean. How he wished he could take him into his arms and never release him!

Castiel had no time to wonder, however, as he was jarred forward, dragged forcedly through the brush as twigs and stones scathed his knees. It was little punishment compared to his impending fate.

In the Enochian culture, betrayal was met with harsh punishments, many that would leave mere moretals cringing in terror, mindless and crazed. Betrayal was met with death, or on the worst of scenarios… torture beyond compare. For the love of his Creator, he hoped he died first.

After what seemed like hours of travel, they finally returned to the community, where he was met with dark, scornful looks; where before he was honored for his return, now he was met with mockery and hatred, stones hurled in his direction as he was taken to the mother house to await his punishment. He hung his head, daring not to meet the prying eyes around him, staring at the swiftly moving ground below. It was only a matter of time now.

The guards dragged Castiel to his fate, throwing him before the feet of his superiors as they held him firmly to his position. The young mage knelt before The Father in painful submission, head bowed to the marble floors below. He knelt before Michael and Zachariah, hearing their disapproving breathes as they watched him with careful eyes.

The minutes crawled by, none of them willing to speak first. It was Castiel who broke the silence, forcedly raising his head despite the hold of the guards. "Be on with your torture, Michael. I have nothing to fear; I have nothing to hide from." He spat, eyes locked angrily on their facades.

Michael was, needless to say, surprised at the audacity of the man before him, The Father silent before his Child. Zachariah was not so patient.

"Well, Father… he has spoken." He sneered, grabbing Castie's chin forcedly, wrenching his face to him. "I say we give him what he wants… after all, his betrayal warrants the harshest of punishments. Why not give him what he wants?"

Castiel glared at Zachariah but said no more. He knew a quick death was out of the question. They wanted him to suffer…

The Father grabbed Michael, whispering his orders as the younger Enochian straightened. "Castiel, your crime is unforgiveable." Michael snarled, eyes flashing with hatred. "You will be removed from our ranks, and punished severely. I dare say you shall wish for death… but by our wrath, you will suffer long… hard… without mercy. May God help you…"

* * *

TBC


	8. Destiny Monger

Chapter 8

Dean stared at the man standing before him, a sense of awe and confusion filling his already beleaguered mind. This man spoke of a destiny… a cause that he was meant for? He could not fathom the concept; not after hearing a similar speech delivered to him by a crazed, fate-bound mage just before his death was nearly brought upon his head and the head of his brother and beloved mate. Castiel…

Dean shook the thought from his mind, clearing his throat hurriedly. "I do not fathom these words, old man. Explain yourself before my already ill patience grows thin!" he snapped, hiding his worry with dark tones.

As they spoke, another woman entered the room, obviously the blonde girl's mother. She had a shock of elegant brown hair and face of determination and strength that Dean had not seen upon the façade of any other woman. This lady, one Ellena Harvelle, was a strong, stubborn woman by nature, and had he not been under the stress of the ever deepening plot, he would have admired it of her.

Ellena frowned, crossing her arms slightly as her eyes trained on Deanolo, waiting. She threaded an arm around her daughter's thin waist, pulling her close as Crowley, too, joined their sides.

Robert sighed, stepping back from his embrace of the skeptical young man. "I see… you do not know your full past, do you not Deanolo?"

Dean glanced at the others before him, the faces of Crowley and mother and daughter firm as they watched his every move. After moments of deliberation, Dean ceded, raising a hand in defeat. "No, sir, I do not know of my so called 'destiny'… however, I have heard such a phrase uttered upon my person before… one, Zachariah, has already beaten you to the punch..."

Robert's face hardened once again, his countenance gruff as he turned away from the bounty hunter. "I see… the Enochians have already claimed their hold on you… it is understandable… but I cannot harbor one of their allies in the fight."

Before Robert could finish, however, Dean's hand shot out and gripped his shoulder, turning him quickly to face him. "I don't understand what the fuck you people speak of, but I made no alliance with that man!" he hissed, glowering at the older man. A blaze of fire rose up in his jade eyes, stilling any other retorts the man may have had in his presence.

Robert blinked, swayed by Dean's words. "You have not chosen a side?"

"No I have not… however, I demand answers. My brother has been taken, as well as my…" Dean paused, unsure if he should reveal his recent bonding with one of the mages these people seemed to despise. "My companion was taken by the Enochians… I do not know whence they have taken him, or what they are doing to him. All I know is that I must retrieve him and Samuel before ill fates befall the both of them."

Robert mulled over his words a moment longer, before nodding and taking Deanolo's elbow in his surprisingly firm grip. "Come… before any decisions are made, I must inform you of your father's past… your future and the fate of humanity are at stake, Deanolo…"

Joanna's eyes brightened in understanding, as she bounded after the two men in hopes of overhearing the story. She, herself had only a vague concept of such a thing, and wished to know more of this strikingly handsome man before her. However, before she could weather a step further, a hand clasped firmly to her shoulder, staying her steps.

"Joanna, this is no place for one's ears such as yours." Her mother chided, casting a stern look upon her daughter.

"Oh, but mother, I do wish to know what they speak of… if we are to fight for our freedom, how am I to fully understand the implications if I do not know the history!" Joanna ventured, hoping to convince her mother otherwise. She was not fortunate. Joanna fell silent, her head dropping as Ellena glared heavily, her grip firmer.

"Joanna, I said no. Tend to the tavern at once, and be quick about it!" At her daughter's impotent face, Ellena crossed her arms angrily, eyes flashing upon her. "I will NOT repeat myself, Joanna!" she raged, sending her daughter scurrying from the room.

However, as Joanna fled her mother's wrath, she cast one last glance over her shoulder at the man named Deanolo, eyeing him with great interest, before darting from the room before she could incur another lecture from Ellena.

Ellena sighed, running a hand through her hair as Crowley joined her side, resting a hand on her shoulder. "Aye, she is a steadfast girl. Her tongue will both be the death of her and her saving grace one day."

Ellena nodded, glancing back at Crowley. "I fear she has many of my faults from my own youth. I can only hope she does not use them too fleetingly."

Crowley smiled at her, patting her shoulder reassuringly before motioning to Robert's library. "Come… we are needed elsewhere."

As the two entered Robert's library, they caught the fleeting words from the older man as he spoke to a young man of thin stature. He wore obscenely long hair, compared to the neat crop of the other gentlemen in the room, and a acerbic demeanor upon his young face.

"Ashten, seek out Pamela and bring her here at once. The time is nigh." Robert ordered his ward, handing him a waxed scroll with reverence. For once, Ashten did not scorn Robert's words, taking the scroll silently as he strode past the others to the stables outside.

Ellena's eyes widened slightly, glancing back at Robert with an air of confusion in her eyes. "Robert, are you sure it is wise to bring her now? In her condition?"

Robert shot Ellena a hard look, nodding his head curtly. "Samuel has already been taken by the Daemons; I hardly think now is the time to second guess our course of action."

Dean had listened to the conversation long enough; gathering his wits, he stood and silenced them. "What is the meaning of all of this? Who is Pamela, and why is her presence conducive to the situation?" He demanded, hard eyes landing on each in turn.

Robert turned to the young bounty hunter, his expression softening slightly. "Oh Deanolo… there is so much you do not know… So much that I wish to enlighten of you. However, I cannot delve into the facts of your fate… I can only speak of your past… your lineage. When Pamela arrives, you will learn…"

Dean eyed the old man up suspiciously, but nodded quietly, taking his seat once again. He watched as Robert and Ellena, too, took their places before the hunter. Crowley, however, remained on his own, imbibing slowly in a pint Joanna had quietly slipped him, free of charge. The rogue Daemon smirked, winking before taking another sip of the cool ale.

"Dean… before we begin, what of your past do you know? What do you understand of your people?"

Dean shook his head, frowning slightly. "Only that I am of the Plains people, hunters of the land, and herders. My father was a great visionary to our clan. I do not remember much else of my childhood… most of it has escaped my mind, after the genocide. Our whole clan was wiped out. Samuel and I were sent to destroy those that had done this… those that had murdered our mother and father before our very eyes." As Dean spoke, his façade grew hard, darkened with faded memories and a deep seeded hate for people he had not even lain eyes upon.

Robert nodded, placing a hand of comfort on Dean's shoulder. He sighed, glancing to the others present before continuing. "Deanolo… I know this story well. In fact I believe I may know it a bit better than even you. Traumatic experiences alter one's perception of memory… let me tell you. Please."

Dean raised his head slightly, eyebrow cocked in confusion. "Please… do tell. I am eager to hear your side of my history." He stated, a mixture of mockery and genuine curiosity. He leaned forward slightly in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees as his eyes flitted to each face in the room.

Robert stood, pacing the darkened room anxiously. "Deanolo, I knew your father well… many moons ago, before your birth, we were allies in a confederation to preserve the lifestyle of humanity." He started, glancing back at Dean for confirmation. "There is much more to your people than meets the eye…" with these words, Robert loosened the tie of his tunic and pulled the thick cloth away to reveal a mark that was all too familiar to Dean.

On Robert's chest, a great black star encircled in flames had been inked into his chest, just above his heart. The pentacle was faded, worn, but proud as his mark, the older man suddenly seeming to glow with a deeper sense of responsibility and honor that the hunter had not seen mere moments before. Dean's eyes grew wide at the sight, mouth slightly agape. He was well familiar with such a tattoo… for he himself and Samuel both possessed such markings. "How…"

"Deanolo… Your father and I were the protectors of humanity. We are the Hunters, the saviors of what remains of mankind. Our world is being overrun by Daemons, and the Enochians hold no regard for us vermin. They would rather see our species fall extinct than raise a finger to assist us."

Dean let Robert's words sink in for a moment, stunned into silence. He shook his head after a time, looking back up at him. "But I do not understand… our clan… our tribe was peaceful. Samuel and I only took on our roles as bounty hunters to find the ones who slaughtered our family. There had been no past indication that we were anything but."

Robert, fastening his tunic once again, sat before the bounty hunter, shaking his head wearily. "It was what your father wanted to protect you from, at least during your childhood. He was to introduce you to our true purpose once the two of you became of age… I was to be your mentor."

Ellena sighed, seeing the distressed look upon the young man's face as he struggled to comprehend what he was being told, what he was to understand after over twenty years of ignorance. "I know it is hard for you to understand, Dean… but you must try. You are part of an underground force; an army to preserve our way of life… for it is not the first time it has been threatened."

Dean raised an eyebrow at her, questioning her choice of wording. "What do you mean, not the first time? What is the meaning of all of this? If I do not receive answers, I fucking swear I will leave you and your destiny behind!" he snapped, growing tired of the conversation as it were. He made to stand, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him, fingertips digging painfully into the still tender flesh of his brand. Dean flinched inwardly, hoping his delayed reaction would go unnoticed. He was not so fortunate.

"Deanolo…" Robert murmured, eyes glaring suspiciously at the offending shoulder. "Remove your tunic at once."

Despite his lack of understanding, Dean found himself abiding to his wish, untying the knots and slipping the black shirt from his body. He gripped the soft cloth firmly, praying they would allow his brand to go unnoticed.

All gathered crowded around the mark, staring in shock. "Oh dear…" Crowley mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "It seems that the prophecy has already begun to weave itself…"

"Again, I hear talk about a great prophecy!" Dean snapped, wrenching himself from prying eyes to slip the tunic back on his chilled torso. "What of this prophecy? I heard similar flack from the goddamn Enochians. You still have failed to explain yourself to me, Singer, and I find the thought of leaving to grow more appealing by the second you refuse to get to the fucking point!"

Finding Dean's short temper cumbersome to their discussion, Robert raised a hand to him, silencing the irate bounty hunter. "I will reveal the information you seek if you would simply shut up and let me talk, you idjit!"

That silenced Dean, the hunter simply dropping back into his seat, his eyes not so much burning as simmering with annoyance.

Seeing that he had finally achieved his peace, Robert continued, standing directly before the younger hunter so as to remain his sole attention. "Deanolo… humans are a resurrected breed. This is not the first time humans have faced great tragedy… in fact we may be facing another global extermination.

"Many years ago, long before the history scrolls, long before any excavations we have provided for scholars… back in the year 2012, the world fell into chaos. Man fought against man for the most trivial of pursuits. The fighting became so bad; it resulted in a third global war. Yes, a third. However, despite the first two occurrences, this one ended in the destruction of the last of humanity. We wiped ourselves out of existence with the very creations we made for our protection: guns, chemicals explosives, and finally a detonating device so powerful it scorched the earth, eradicating all life on the face of the planet, and poisoning the very rock, the very air that allowed life to flourish in the first place. The great cities of what used to be the United States of America crumbled with our demise, and all man-made artifacts were destroyed forever."

Dean listened to the older man's words, completely and utterly dumbfounded by what he heard. It couldn't be true… "But… but that is impossible! How is it the history scrolls have no evidence of all of this?"

"For the very reason we Hunters were established; to protect a new generation of humans from our past mistakes. We, as a clan, were dedicated to the preservation of a new, purer humanity. However, this does not take into consideration a new enemy that humans did not truly have to face during their first time on this earth… the mages. The Daemons and Enochians are hated enemies… many say that they are descendants of mythological creatures, known as Angels and Demons, however this has never fully been proven; there is not enough research to enforce these thoughts.

"The Enochians and Daemons have faced conflict many times, however the order and Faith of The Enochians always held power over the lower level mages. That is… until now."

"From what we understand, Dean…" Ellena interjected, "The Daemons have found a secret that they can use to their advantage over the unsuspecting Enochians…"

"And that secret is the very thing that caused our world's demise in the first place: human weaponry." Robert paused, waiting to gauge Dean's reaction. When nothing came, he continued, shifting more comfortably on his seat. "Despite the fact that these weapons were created eons ago, they are well preserved in the melted mantle of the land, and were so highly innovated at the time, that they still hold great power and deadly efficiency. Despite the fact that both clans have magic to their disposal, if the Daemons possess human weaponry accompanied with their own powers on another species of mage that relies on magic and the blade… the odds are highly uneven. Magic is invaluable, but not when both parties possess similar incantations and spells to use against equally strong enemies. However… a gun firing a bullet is much quicker and much deadlier than close combat arms with a long sword. Swords cannot always penetrate armor… bullets are much more resilient than that."

Silence filled the room, as the bounty hunter let this new information manifest in his mind. "So… what does my destiny have to do with all or any of this?" Dean asked finally, dreading his answer. He was not disappointed.

"Deanolo… you are the chosen warrior, the chosen Guardian to protect our land once and for all, and stop the war between the mage clans before it is too late."

Crowley, silent the entire time, decided to add to Dean's already growing anxiety and responsibility. "I told you. Destiny-monger!"

* * *

The sounds of dripping water in the background did nothing but drive him further over the edge; insanity mixing with roiling emotions and pain unimaginable. He hung his head slightly, panting as he awaited their next move. It did not take long before he received their punishing blow.

Whip cracks filled the air, the sound of leather on skin ringing in the dank chamber, as the hooks dug painfully into flesh, ripping it apart as easily as ever. Each strike landed harder than the last, deeper cuts welling darker blood than the last blow. And all for naught it seemed. The Enochians would be receiving no easy sub ordinance from him.

Castiel clamped his teeth down hard on his tongue, willing himself not to scream as the tailed whip struck his exposed back, again and again. He managed to catch a glimpse of the hooked whip, noting with gut-churning reality that strips of his own flesh hung precariously from each brutal tip.

Blood hot as coals ran down his body, pooling below him as he knelt on the filthy ground below. His knees throbbed, scarred from his brutal capture and soaking up his crimson stain. He felt lightheaded from the blood loss, wishing he could expel the bile rotting in the pit of his stomach before it ate him away from the inside out.

Then again, that would be a far less cruel death than what his past colleagues had in store for him. Each new torture was worse than the last, bringing him closer and closer to an end unseen yet unstoppable. Castiel only prayed that he had sent his lover far from the clutches of the very people he had hoped to become in his time, away from their desirable end for the hunter. He hoped his sacrifice was not in vain.

After what seemed like ages, the onslaught ended once again, leaving the young mage a quivering, heaving mess on the dirty floor. His shoulders pulled painfully as his bound wrists were wrenched in opposite directions, the heavy chains bruising down to the bone. With each attack, his arms were pulled tauter until his joints threatened to dislocate from the sockets, tendons stretched beyond their limits. A tear in his shoulder, hours before, left his left arm completely useless, as he felt the tingling numbness of torn vessels intensify. How he wished they would just end it now! His punishment already was fitting for his crime. He'd never feel regret for it. He did it for Dean, and that was all that mattered.

Panting heavily, he heard heavy footfalls on the cold stones, coming ever closer as his torture approached him. He did not look up at him. He'd never give him the satisfaction of seeing pained tears, blood running into his eyes from multiple beatings.

His torturer had no need for his defiance, it seemed. A gloved hand grabbed his chin and wrenched his eyes upwards to meet his own. Castiel hissed in pain, glaring at his captor as he remained observed in such a humiliating, subordinate state.

"Raphael, be on with it. If you wish to end me then do it! I feel no guilt for my actions." Castiel snapped, wrenching his head from the older mage's grip.

Raphael laughed, his dark eyes twinkling with dark mirth. "Castiel, you continue to astound me with your ignorance. You have no idea what you have gotten yourself into." The elder smiled, kicking his nude prisoner harshly in the ribs.

Castiel gagged on his own blood, the blow cracking a rib easily as he slumped against his restraints. He steadied himself for another attack, but it never came. The reason? Zachariah had entered the chamber, along with Michael, and much to his horror, Annahriel. All eyes bore heavily into the battered soul on the ground and the fresh brand to his hip, no mercy in any heart.

Silence befell the room, as the minutes dragged by. Castiel finally raised his head, staring at his once betrothed with blank eyes. "I do not apologize for this, Annahriel. For any of this." Castiel stated to the silent room, watching the young woman's face twist into a horrid mask of her beautiful features.

"You selfish, childish son of a bitch!" she hissed, rushing forward as if to exact her own wrath upon the man. "You have betrayed our people! Our bond for that… that heathen! How dare you, Castiel?" Annahriel struggled against the hold Michael had on her elbow, pulling her away from the bloody mess of a man Castiel was. Bloodied but not broken, as it clearly appeared by his obstinate air.

"Annahriel, you must remain calm. He will receive his punishment." Michael said calmly to her, turning hard eyes on him. He smirked, seeing Raphael harshly pull Castiel to his knees before them.

Unashamed of neither his beaten form nor his nudity, the mage knelt upright as he possibly could, turned his chin up to them. "I will say it again. End me. I will not admit fault for this, for it had to be done. End it, now!"

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO ORDER US AROUND, SCUM!" Zachariah roared, striking Castiel hard across the face, his ringed hand tearing a rivet in his cheek several inches long from ear to nose. He watched with satisfaction as Castiel gasped, wrenching away from his touch. "You will take what punishment we see fit, and seeing as how you have been as defiant as ever, you will receive a heinous reward indeed." Zachariah smiled, extending a hand to his ward. The boy unsheathed a dangerous looking dagger, placing the ebony hilt in his master's outstretched hand carefully.

Castiel's eyes widened at the sight of the knife, recognizing the skulls engraved into the hilt warily. Even in the dim lighting of the single torch, the obsidian blade glinted sharply, drawing all attention to its presence. The unnamed blade was well known for use against other mages, having been a common implement of destruction against Daemon captives. When it was forged, it had been dipped in toxic oil and fired to the sharp stone, making it deadly and efficient. "You know this blade well, Castiel… It has been used against enemies of all kind, and now it shall be used against you."

Castiel scowled, eyes flashing to his elder's twisted face, before lunging forward slightly in Raphael's grip. "Fuck you, Zachariah!" he snapped, suddenly losing his temper in realization. They had no need to kill him right off… he knew what Zachariah's plan had been upon seeing the older mage's eyes flash to the burnt tattoo on his chest. They had no need to kill him… they were going to do much worse.

Zachariah struck out again, knocking the young man back against the unforgiving stones. "You won't speak to me as such, you bastard. Receive your punishment as you claimed so heroically to take. Hang him up!"

Castiel struggled, but was overpowered as Raphael turned him over onto his stomach, pinning him to the floor with no regard to his grievous injuries. In fact, the older mage took great pleasure in further bruising the already black and blue flesh, tearing open rivets further in his flesh. He nodded to Michael, who left Annahriel's side to help his comrade restrain the rogue mage.

Taking the hanging chains, he fastened them to Castiel's legs, the cold metal biting into his skin as it tore deep into him. Blood fountain-ed from a vein in his ankle, as Castiel cried out, feeling fingertips digging sharply into his whip marks as they dragged him to the center of the room.

Zachariah's ward attached the hanging chains to a pulley before cranking the heavy wheel with difficulty, hoisting the struggle man into the air upside down. Castiel grunted, feeling the remainder of his blood flow to his head in a dizzying rush as he was suspended above the floor. It occurred to him that if the chains should fail, there was nothing stopping him from crashing to the stone floor and a possible broken neck. He hoped it did.

He felt the other two mages pull his arms out to the sides and restrain them in an obscene inverted crucifix, his position causing the blood flow to intensify as he felt his head growing lighter with each passing moment. He watched Zachariah stride forward, smirk marring his aged features.

"Now, Castiel… your desired punishment." He cackled, pressing the tainted blade to his burnt sigil, carving deep to his sternum with each stroke.

Castiel finally screamed in agony, the flashing heat of the cursed blade carving his sigil out from his chest to slice through the bone far too easily. He saw strips of skin fall to the bloodied floor; the tattoo cut from his body in rough hews.

Annahriel smiled, seeing her revenge exacted on her late betrothed. Nodding, she turned away to hide her induced nausea from the others at the sight of such a gruesome torture. She slammed the door shut, cutting off the young mage's agonized screams from her ears. She almost felt sorry for him.

Castiel gasped in pain, tears running from his eyes to join the mar of blood below him. It felt as if his whole body was on fire, radiating from the inflicted hole in his chest. He wrenched himself from Zachariah's touch as best as he could, growling his continuing defiance to the man. "Fuck you!" he hissed again, spitting in the man's face.

Zachariah smirked, wiping the spittle from his face as calm as ever. "Fine then, you do not appreciate your punishment, we can comply to your wishes. Raphael… do as you will. Remove his wings."

Raphael smiled, cackling at the horrified look on Castiel's face as he took the knife from his elder. "With great pleasure, sir…" he said, watching Zachariah and Michael leave the room quietly. Turning his attention to the dying man, he smirked, walking around to his back. "As you wish…" he murmured, sinking the obsidian blade into the first wing deep to the bone…

* * *

Dean kept his eyes trained on the scruffy man in the room, writing down fervently on a scroll. After several moments of watching, he sighed, looking over at Robert. "Who is this? He seems diligent in his work…"

Robert waved his hand absentmindedly, running his own fingers down an ancient book. "That is Charles… He is our personal psychic. He was the one who jumpstarted our search for you, and warned of the impending start of the prophecy." He responded with ease, as if speaking of the end of times were a normal occurrence in his life. It occurred to Dean that it probably was.

Charles paid no mind to the others in the room; he simply continued his fervent writing, quill scratching hurriedly across rough parchment as he worked. He did not even flinch as Crowley appeared quite suddenly before them all, looking a bit toussled. Leaves stuck to his tunic and mud stained his boots. Upon Robert's questioning glare, Crowley smirked, wiping the mud from his shoes quickly. "There is no need for scorn, Singer. I'll have you know I did Deanolo a great service; the horses were lost to the woods, and I fetched them for him. They are grazing in the stables as we speak, so hush you, old man."

Dean watched the Daemon and hunter argue, raising an eyebrow at the two of them, almost coupled in their banter. He watched as Robert shot the Daemon a fond, yet aggravated expression before waving the bounty hunter off. Strange.

Having already earned a headache for his troubles, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing heavily. He strode into the other room, watching Ashten and Pamela converse with Ellena and Joanna. That strange woman, Pamela, stared blindly at the far wall, her hands tracing over scrolls as she seemed to read the ink with her fingertips. Dean had been explained her predicament earlier, told that she had lost her sight on her last reading. She, like Charles, was a psychic, seeing into Deanolo's past with great ease. However, unlike Charles, she could not foretell the future. Her only readings sought the past, which came in great worth to Dean's position.

Joanna, hearing his entrance, turned to smile at the hunter. "Deanolo, come join us!" she exclaimed, smiling far too brightly to the man. She shifted on the bench, allowing extra room for Dean to join her by her side.

Dean eyed the young woman suspiciously, but joined the group, listening to them speak. He noticed, with a sense of unnerve, that Pamela's blank eyes had turned directly to him.

"Now, do you understand, Deanolo Winchester, that is expected of you?" Pamela asked, her tragically beautiful features glowing slightly in the candlelight.

Dean nodded, then realized that perhaps that would not be the gesture of choice at this moment. "Of course. I just… I wish I had known of all of this at a younger age… I do not like thinking that I am the sole factor of the survival of humanity… I have let many people down in the past… I cannot do it again…" He trailed off, thinking about Samuel and Castiel, both of them at the mercy of their respective enemies.

Pamela nodded, taking his hand easily. "I understand, Deanolo… but you must do this. For the sake of humanity, our fate rests in your hands. We will follow you as you see fit… you will not be alone. But you must take command. You must take control…" Turning to Ashten, she nodded. "Fetch Robert and tell him to bring Deanolo's weapon…"

Dean frowned, watching the youth depart the room. He blinked in confusion, wondering why exactly Pamela wished to have his sword at the moment.

He flinched yet again when cold, white eyes turned suddenly to him as if she had heard his thoughts. "It is not as you seek or expect. Be patient… that has always been your downfall…"

Robert soon arrived with Ashten, holding a narrow box in his hands. He offered up the wooden box to Pamela, stepping back with obvious bated breath. All others, too, fell silent as Pamela handled the box carefully, staring at the "W" engraved in the top.

"This was your father's, Deanolo… The very weapon meant to destroy the darkest of evils, the one being orchestrating the war. When we go in to fight, you must kill the Hidden God, the demon above all evils that is threatening the planet and all living creatures on it once again. He was the one who pushed humans to destroy themselves so many years ago… now he rises again to make sure we do not thrive and take control. He feels that this land is his… we must prove him wrong. Enochians and Humans were bred to live in harmony. It must be fixed…"

Dean's eyes strayed to the box as Pamela lifted the heavy wooden lid. A flash of red velvet caught his eye and he balked, staring at the ancient weapon inside. "What is that?" He breathed, reaching out a curious hand to caress the aged metal, thousands of years past its prime.

Pamela smiled. "This is the Colt…" she said, lifting the weapon from its box. "Each bullet was designed to kill with deadly accuracy, even for its time. However, now that the age of the second Fall is nigh, the bullets have been forged for a new purpose: to stop the Hidden God before he strikes us all down again. For it will not end in just the deaths of humans, but all life, including his beloved Daemons."

She placed the weapon in Dean's grasp, the hunter holding the heavy implement with cautions, unsteady hands. "Use it well, Deanolo. Use it true."

All in the room stared at the young hunter, their very lives and beliefs laying in his hands along with the Colt. It took a pained outburst from the corner of the room to avert their gazes to Charles.

Charles, having been standing by the door, suddenly slumped in the frame, clutching his head painfully as he moaned.

"Aye, he's having another premonition!" Robert barked, rushing forward with Ellena and Ashten, leaving a bewildered Dean and the other two women behind to assist him.

Dean jumped to his feet, waving them down. "What is going ON!" Dean shouted, watching as they lay Charles down on a makeshift cot. His confusion only intensified when they refused to answer him, instead tending to the small man on the bed.

"Charles… Charles, look at me!" Robert snapped, shaking him slightly. The psychic had fallen still, breathing shakily as he struggled to regain his composure.

Ellena waved Crowley to her side, motioning to the ill man. When Crowley made no move to respond, she provided swift and sharp reason for his cooperation as she rammed her elbow into his side.

"Alright, relax! I will tend to the poor chap…" Crowley muttered, leaning over the pale, sickly man. He uttered a short incantation, pressing his palms to Charles' forehead as he spoke.

Dean frowned, listening to the Daemon's words. Indeed, they were not of the human tongue, but they held no Enochian thrills. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he nearly missed the slight glow and spluttering of the psychic as he came to his senses again.

Charles choked on his own spittle, sitting up violently as he breathed for much needed air.

"Charles, are you alright? What was the vision of, man?" Robert demanded, slapping his back roughly.

The psychic swatted his hands away, glaring at the older hunter for a delayed moment. "Peace, Robert! I will speak in due time!" he snapped, half-choking on his words. He took several steadying breaths, slumping forward enough to rest his elbows on his knees.

He remained in such a position for so long, the others feared he had lapsed back into oblivion. But just when Ellena reached for his shoulder, Charles leapt to his feet, staring Deanolo down. "You… your branded soul has been tainted by the enemy!"

Shocked into silence, Dean backed away from the estranged psychic, shaking his head. "I have no taint, prophet! You speak nonsense!" he yelped, the Colt still clutched in his shaking hands.

Charles shook his head, striding forward to grip Deanolo's collared tunic. "No, I speak of your branded, your melded soul. It has been tainted by violence and hatred. Physical scorn and corruption has dimmed your other half. Castiel is in danger… he is dying."

The color drained from Dean's face as he listened to these words. His world collapsed in a flurry of Charles' words, echoing in his mind. "No… you lie! Castiel is strong!"

Crowley shook his head, joining Charles' side as he gripped Dean's shoulder gently. "No, he is right, lad. Castiel had drained the remainder of his strength sending you from harm's way. From what I can sense, the Enochians have taken him prisoner… I can only imagine the horrors."

He felt as if he wanted to vomit. Gripping the table with what little strength he had left, Dean steadied himself, looking between them all. "I must go to him! I must save him!" he yelled, running from the darkened study in haste.

Charles watched as the remainder of his followers left as well, standing alone with Pamela. "BE QUICK ABOUT YOU!" he shouted to their backs, wringing his hands nervously. "HIS GRACE WANES EVER QUICKLY! SAVE HIM BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!"

Dean heard none of his words, his blood pounding in his ears as he ran to the stables. He found the three horses he had left behind in the woods in their own stalls, and quickly saddled Impala. He did not even wait for the others to prepare before he was off, riding hard in the direction of his lover. Tears stung his eyes painfully as he rode hard, willing his steed the extra will to carry him faster. He only prayed he was not too late…

* * *

TBC…


	9. Crossing Remains

Chapter 9

The air was frightfully still, heat bearing down on the riders as they sought their destination in haste. Deanolo lead the small band across the barren landscape, Robert and Ashten at his sides whilst Ellena brought up the rear of their group. His eyes never left the unyielding horizon, pleading if he could just urge Impala on that swifter…

Charles' words echoed in his mind, ringing a pounding migraine wrought with worry and fear that nauseated him as he rode. However, it was not the time to lose himself to his warring emotions. Swallowing the bitter ire, Dean pushed himself and his steed to the breaking point, the landscape finally breaking its rustic desert façade for the softer greens of Enochian territory.

"DEANOLO, FOR THE SAKE OF GOD, STOP!" Robert shouted, rearing his own horse to a stop as he glanced about the scenery with worry. He half feared that Deanolo would continue his suicide quest without proper aid or a plan; he was wrong, thankfully.

Deanolo, too, reared his horse in as he shot a glance to the elder hunter over his shoulder. "Robert, we have no time to stop! Castiel is in need!"

"You idjit, if you get yourself killed, Castiel will have no hope at all. We must formulate a plan to rescue him properly; going in blindly will only end in disaster!"

Dean panted heavily, realization dawning in his emerald eyes as he glanced about the fields surrounding them. Running a shaking hand through his wind-tousled hair, he sat back in the saddle awaiting their "plan".

"Deanolo, I understand, but Robert is right. We must act rationally if we are to succeed." Ellena offered, hoping to placate the distressed man. She reached out, taking his hand into her own with a small smile.

Dean returned the gesture, his own smile not quite creasing his eyes. He appreciated Ellena's mothering touch… he just couldn't shake the thought that he was losing valuable time. "We must act fast. Finding a way past the border guards is our first prerogative. Then… we must…" he drifted off, realizing his own fate. He had no clue how he would successfully slip into the bowels of the community to rescue an injured prisoner. It was futile. Groaning in disgust with his own ineptitude, Deanolo pressed his forehead to the nape of Impala's neck, exhaling in a frustrated puff. "There must be a way…"

It was then that their answer came to them in the most unlikely of circumstances.

Ashten spoke up, surprising all of them. "I feel I may have found our ticket in…" he replied, his head aimed away from the group.

The others all followed his gaze to his reasoning: a boy, atop a young dapple gelding, was staring at the troupe with what appeared to be a sense of determination and success in his eyes. "I've found you…" the boy said in a hoarse voice, urging his young mount forward.

Dean watched the boy, recognizing him even weeks after their flight from the Enochian encampment. "You are Castiel's hand servant." He said with realization. The others about him gave incredulous looks, but these went unnoticed.

The hand servant, Maion, nodded, extending his small hand to Dean's. "Yes. My name is Maion. I've come to assist you in your rescue but we must hurry… there isn't much time left!"

Dean felt a harsh clenching in his chest at the revelation, but he nodded tersely, pushing his wayward thoughts aside. "Is there a way to find him without alerting your kind to our approach, young one?"

Maion nodded, guiding his dapple around to lead the group on. "Yes, but you must be of absolute silence! Come. They have left him; therefore our chance is limited to their lack of interest. Who knows how long it would last before they turn back and…" he stopped, glancing nervously over his shoulder at his master's partner, soft brown eyes filled with worry for Castiel's mate.

Dean swallowed, feeling a roué of anger and distress swelling inside him. He urged Impala onward, following the surprisingly quick-paced gelding as his troupe took up the rear. His eyes burned in the salty tang of wind-blown sting, his gaze never diverting from Maion.

"Stay strong, Castiel… I will find you."

* * *

Charles reentered the tavern, his eyes landing on the still form of Pamela. He overstepped the threshold, approaching the blind soothsayer with silent steps. He sat before her and extended a hand to her own, smiling when she responded. Unseeing eyes found his own quite easily, Pamela nodding her consent to Charles' unspoken words. She took his free hand as well, interlacing their fingers in preparation.

As their palms connected, a great flash filled the air of the tavern room, bursting forth from the windows as feeble glass shattered around them. The otherworldly light cast from the two engulfed them as ancient words of lore spewed forth from their flaming mouths; shrieks and cries of the spirit world found passage through their very beings, filling the room with unbearable sensations.

Pamela's blind eyes flew open, her hand separating from Charles' as she scrabbled for the nearest quill; he, too, sought any writing implement he could find. Blinded by their spiritual bond, the two stood and ripped the tapestry from the near wall of the tavern room, tearing the ancient cloth in half. The two seers slammed their piece of the tapestry down on the floor, kneeling before their makeshift canvases with blazing eyes as the image of their new prophecy burned brightly before them.

From the adjoining room, Crowley and Joanna took flight, bursting in to find both Charles and Pamela on the floor, knelt before the expensive tapestry torn to ribbons.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?" Joanna shrieked, her eye locked on the image of her mother's destroyed art. But as she stepped forward, she felt a strong grip on her shoulder, stopping her mid-step. Her eyes flew to Crowley's, silently demanding reason for his interference.

"Be still, Joanna, and observe the birth of a new prophecy." He hissed, giving her a knowing look before returning his attention to the scene before him.

Charles, oblivious to the exchange behind them, plunged the tip of the sharp quill into the soft flesh of his wrist, drawing his "ink" from his own body. Pamela did the same, blood welling forth as they filled their pens and drew hasty, harsh strokes on their respective canvases. The lines were bold and rough, staining the weathered tapestry in growing images. As they worked, the very power within the room grew immensely, engulfing the two watchers.

Crowley hissed in pain, clapping his hands over his ears from the onslaught. "JOANNA, DIVERT YOUR ATTENTION! THEIR POWER GROWS TOO QUICKLY!" he shouted as best as he could to the young woman next to him.

She shrieked in fear, burying her face in the crook of the Daemon's shoulder as the two seers worked before them. Their masterpieces continued to grow, murals of blood taking on a life of their own as the artists lost themselves in the heat of the moment.

It was then that all hell broke loose within the walls of the tavern.

Windows shattered inward, spraying the inhabitants with bits of glass. Joanna shrieked once again in terror, dropping to her knees as Crowley ducked down over the young woman, shielding her from the onslaught. Through the overwhelming confusion, the rogue Daemon caught sight of an attack on the tavern, a caucus of intruders breaking in to disrupt the work of the two seers before them.

"NO!" he cried, leaping up to stop the intruders from disrupting Charles and Pamela. He extended a hand to them, summoning his own enchantment to halt them in their pace.

No effect. The Daemon's work deflected from their person, slamming him back into the wall with his own force. Crowley grunted in surprise, sliding down the wall as flashes of pain danced behind his eyes. "No… it can't be…" he hissed, looking up at the burglars.

"Well, Crowley, what a pleasure to see you again." The enemy Daemon smirked, striding over in quick, confident steps. He thrust his clawed hand towards Joanna, flinging her across the room with nearly bone shattering force.

Crowley narrowed his eyes at his past superior, standing with some difficulty. "Malphas. It has been too long, although I cannot share your enthusiasm with our meeting." As he spoke, the two rounded on each other, taking a casual fighting stance to bear down upon the other in hopes of intimidation.

"Still playing favorites with the humans I see. What a pity. You had such great potential, boy. The Lord was pleased with you until you began consorting with one Robert Singer. Pity, really, that you should give up you rightful place amongst your people for that mud bag you call an ally."

"You've no place to insult Robert, Malphas! Release the humans; your fight is with me." Crowley spat, taking an advancing step towards his enemy.

Malphas laughed, a cold and heartless knell that chilled even the blood of his former ally. "Come off it, Crowley you've no hope of defeating me. Your time amongst human blood has stained your essence. Besides, my place is not here to fight an age old feud."

At these words, Crowley grew uneasy, taking slow, careful steps to separate the injured girl from his clutches. "What do you mean?"

However, as he spoke, his eyes drifted from Malphas' deceptively fair features to the scene behind him. As he watched, his blood ran cold, fear dawning on his face.

The Daemons were bearing down on the seers.

"YOU CANNOT STOP THE PROPHECY, MALPHAS!" he cried, striding forward.

Malphas smirked, throwing a hit that sent Crowley spiraling from his touch. "You cannot stop me. The prophecy must be broken before it is fully forged. You wouldn't want our side to lose, now would you?"

"FUCK YOU, MALPHAS!" Crowley jeered, standing with some difficulty. He raised a hand to strike, but alas, he was too slow.

Malphas screamed an incantation in his native tongue, the very air about them exploding with pent up power, light emanating in a powerful, blinding wave that rocked the foundation of the tavern.

And just as quickly as it came, all fell silent.

* * *

Dean followed the young boy with bated breath, fear and heightened perception tickling every nerve in his body as he slipped through the shadows in Maion's wake. It had been decided that Deanolo would go alone with Maion, the others waiting behind with the horses to make their escape clean.

Dean swallowed hard, sweat beading at the nape of his neck. He pawed at the sensation, glancing over his shoulder at the dark trail they had just traversed in silence. He felt grateful for Maion's presence; his knowledge of the interior of Enochian territory made his way that much easier, and within a relatively short time span, the two had managed to slip under the motherhouse in the main courtyard, unseen.

Maion shushed the man over his shoulder, slipping along the dank walls of the underbelly. Their need for complete secrecy had left them without the aid of light, the two making their way in solid darkness.

Finally, Deanolo felt the boy stop before him, and his heart crawled up his throat in anticipation.

"The dungeons are just up ahead. I cannot go further, for my Grace will be noticed with much more ease than your human essence. I shall wait here, though, to take you both back to your comrades."

Dean nodded, patting Maion on the shoulder in thanks. Without another word, he slipped past him, inching into the dungeons with worry. Glancing about, he deemed his way clear and sprinted across the dungeons, glancing into each cell with a practiced eye.

After several minutes of searching, however, Dean paused in frustration. Castiel was nowhere to be found. "Cas!" he whispered into the dark in hopes for a sign. None came.

But just when Dean turned to leave in defeat, he caught sight of a door he had passed in the dark not five minutes before. With a small gasp, Dean bolted forward, reaching for the handle quickly. But just as he turned the knob, a chill ran up his spine and he paused, staring at the handle. It felt too convenient.

Looking up, he noticed a small sliding door at eye-level, and he reached for it with tentative fingers. The slot opened with a loud creak and he winced visibly at the offending sound. But when no one came to investigate the noise, he sighed, glancing inside.

The room was nearly pitch-black, save for a small torch in the corner of the chamber. The walls, the floor, the ceiling were all stone cold and wet, sparse to no furniture inside. The only piece he could spy was a large wooden table along the back wall, laden with objects that appeared suspiciously torturous. Dean swallowed, glancing about the room inside as best as he could from his poor vantage point.

As his eyes continued to adjust to the meager lighting, he caught a glimpse of something hanging from the ceiling. Deep in the shadows it was hard for Dean to make out easily, but from what he could see of the dark pool beneath it, it looked strangely like a slab of livestock, strung up and left to drain of all the remaining blood in the flesh. This struck Dean strangely. Why would they drain a slab of beef below the motherhouse as such?

Dean adjusted as best as he could, standing on the balls of his feet to get a better glimpse inside. As he peered, however, he caught sight of the item more clearly and he froze in horror. The limbs of the carcass were stretched out from either side, and the slightest of movements from the item told Dean exactly what he did not want to know. It wasn't an animal strung up to bleed out for a feast.

It was Castiel.

Heart hammering wildly in his chest, Dean wrenched the iron door open and sprinted inside towards his partner. He felt sick at the sight; Castiel remained in his inverted position, his face unnaturally pale and stained dark red.

"Cas! Castiel! Please wake up…" Dean begged, cupping his lover's face in gentle hands. Tears sprang to his eyes at the sight of Castiel so broken; broken by the hands of his own people. He felt a lance of fury through his heart at the Enochians, but stayed his rage for the time being. Now was not the time to lose his head. Castiel needed him.

After a few moments of gentle prying, Castiel opened his eyes, coughing slightly. Dean felt a light spray of something warm against his face as his lover tried to clear his lungs, and dared not to think of the crimson spatters on his own face.

"D-dean… I-I…"

"Shh, Castiel. Do not speak." Dean shushed him, gazing into broken, blood-shot eyes. He ran his fingertips over the mage's fair features, trying to offer up whatever comfort he could. After a moment Dean stepped back enough to survey the damage, and nearly vomited at the sight.

Eyes fully adjusted to the dark, he could clearly make out the extent of Castiel's injuries. It amazed him that he was still alive, the gaping wounds leaking blood even still, rivulets of red staining what little skin was left untouched. He caught sight of the lesion to his chest, the pattern carved frighteningly in the same shape as his tattoo, the painted flesh missing. "Castiel… what have they done…"

Castiel shifted in his binds, whimpering slightly at the pain of his over exerted shoulders. This caused Dean to spring into action, finding the pulley that kept his lover suspended above the unforgiving cold stones below. He lowered him gently, enough to reach the binds around his broken ankles and released his lover finally from the chains. He caught him easily, loosening the ropes to each wrist. Dean rocked movement back into the torn and bruised ligaments, folding Castiel's arms to his chest to ease some of the tension.

As he held him, however, warmth seeped into his arms, wet and sticky. He knew what he would see when he turned the mage over, and although he did not want to, Dean glanced down at Castiel's back.

The flesh was missing entirely.

"Fuck…" Dean sobbed, watching in grief as Castiel winced in agony, tears seeping from bruised eye sockets. If only he had been able to find him sooner; he feared his absence had been the cause of the extent to Castiel's injuries.

The hunter rocked his lover gently, pressing quaking lips to the sticky locks in gentle kisses. The brand to his shoulder burned in sympathy and Dean longed to bond, if only to offer up his conditional comfort and love to ease his partner's being.

Castiel bit his torn lower lip, willing himself to remain stoic even in his state. Taking a shallow breath, he looked up at his lover with reverence, forcing even the smallest of smiles on his marred features. "Be still, my love. There is nothing more you could have done to help me." Castiel coughed again, shivering at the pain such a small action caused him. "You should not be here, though. My people… the Enochians will surely find you here. I dare not allow such a thing to happen to you. Please… spare yourself and go."

"No!" Dean growled, gripping his lover more firmly to his chest. "I will not leave you here to die." Despite the mage's protests, Dean pulled the cloak from his back, wrapping his naked form in the soft cloth gently. "I will free you from this place. Y-you will be well again. I swear to it."

Castiel did not protest, simply falling limp in the soothing embrace. As he was lifted from the stone floor, Castiel buried his face in the warmth of Deanolo's chest, taking in his scent.

Dean adjusted his grip, slipping silently from the room with his precious cargo. He glanced quickly about the dank confines of the dungeon corridor, seeking out any guards. When none came in sight, he made swift escape, seeking out his guide.

"Maion!" he hissed, eyes scanning the dark corridor for the boy. His brow furrowed in confusion.

He was nowhere to be found.

"Shit…" Deanolo sighed, readjusting his grip on the smaller man in his arms. Damned if he remembered the direction he had come from mere moments before.

Trying to gather his bearings in the corridor, Dean made his choice, slipping into the night. The corridor felt vaguely familiar to him, confidence growing slowly within his breast each moment he did not meet an enemy in his trek. "I've got you…" he murmured, soothing the perpetually mussed hair on his lover's crown.

Castiel smiled, his eyes slipping shut in exhaustion. He trusted Dean; he always would.

After mere minutes, a light ahead of him caught the hunter's attention, and his heart leapt with joy. A few more paces, and they'd be free.

It astounds all how fate may change the course of one's path.

As Deanolo darted into the chamber before him, his heart leapt into his throat, fear gripping his heart in the vice of doom.

He had walked directly into an ambush.

Riddling the lighted room were dozens of guards, armed and lying in wait for the attempted escape. Upon Deanolo's entrance, they sprang into action, surrounding the hunter and his mage and effectively cutting off his escape.

Dean's eyes scanned the war-hardened faces of the Enochians, his grip firm and unwavering. He growled in fury, eyes landing on the smug façade of Zachariah. "You bastard…" he hissed, taking a defensive stance against his enemies. He dare not let his attempts go in vain, not to this man.

"I see you have found your way into our territory after all. Pity you won't make it out alive…" Zachariah sneered, drawing his sword with casual grace. "Relinquish our prisoner, and we will let you go free. You have no business in our walls… However, I can make exceptions for the Sons of Prophecy."

"I will do no such thing, Zachariah. And if dying by your hand defending my mate is what it takes, then so be it." Dean spat, inching away from the ever shortening distance between them. His eyes landed on the far doorway, gauging his way.

"I see…" Zachariah sighed, tipping the sword to the stones below. "Then I can make no exceptions for you Deanolo." Raising a hand, he concentrated on the motionless form in the hunter's arms, murmuring an incantation directed in the dying man's way.

Castiel cried out, arching in Dean's arms as the spell wracked his body excruciatingly. The drug wrought into the Nameless Blade burned red-hot in his veins, causing him great distress.

"CASTIEL!" Dean cried, dropping to his knees as he held the writhing man close. "ZACHARIAH, CEASE THIS NOW!"

"I am dreadfully sorry, Deanolo." The elder mage murmured, dropping his hand reluctantly. Almost instantly, Castiel fell still, slipping into oblivion. "Live by your insolence. The both of you shall pay." As he spoke, he readied the guards, awaiting the prime moment to strike.

That moment never came. The moment Zachariah gave word to his men, the far door Deanolo had been watching burst from the hinges, scattering the mages in shock. As the murky dust cleared, Dean made out the form of old Robert Singer, the Colt in hand and smoking at the muzzle.

"YOU IDJIT, LET US FLY!" he shouted, aiming the Colt in the direction of the Enochian leader.

Dean needed no second bidding. He sprang to his feet, carrying the unconscious Castiel in his arms as he bolted for freedom through the mayhem.

Zachariah roared in disdain, following in close pursuit of his unintended escapees. "YOU IDIOTS! FOLLOW THEM! CATCH THEM!" he screamed to his men, bolting after the hunters and prisoner.

Dean panted heavily, overexerted by the effort to carry Castiel at such a pace. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, weighing the distance between them. There was not much to spare.

"DARE YOU LOSE CONCENTRATION, BOY!" Robert yelled. He gripped Dean's elbow with force, dragging him close behind through the labyrinth of the motherhouse dungeons. "Ellena and Ashten are standing guard! HURRY!"

Very nearly they had been captured once, having almost been taken by surprise by the impending guards. Dean's footing gave out as one such burly guard lunged for him, and he flinched in anticipation, gripping Castiel close. However, the old man's swiftness proved true, wrenching Dean from the mage's grasp. Adrenaline pumped hard through aching veins with each hurried gasp for air, choking and oxygen deprived. It seemed a never ending blur of cold, grey stone just outside their peripheral, dizzying them; the shouts of the mages echoed loudly in the halls, disorienting them further.

Deanolo feared he would never see the light of day again, clutching tightly to his dying partner as they were swarmed by the mages. It darkened his heart, but he pushed onward, pride and unwillingness to give up pressing his fears back. He was a Winchester, and Winchesters did not succumb to the grievous hand of surrender.

The chase finally winding down, Deanolo found his strength waned ever quickly, steps slowing with each moment. He feared his quest would be in vain after all. Dean gasped, a stitch of exhaustion lancing his side as he adjusted his grip mid-step. They'd never make it…

"AHEAD! The exit is ahead!" Robert called, turning to fire another round into the guards. He gave a satisfied smirk, hearing the anguished cry as the bullet found its mark. Nodding once, he turned and followed the hunter, finding comfort in their only hope. The doorway to their freedom lay just ahead.

As the crack of gunfire filled the chambers the Enochians scattered once again, disbursed by the frightening sound. It was unlike anything they had encountered before in their lives, and fell still, unsure of what to do. Only the knowledge that their intended prisoners stood mere feet from the doorway to freedom spurred them on, following in quick succession.

Dean spared one last glance over his shoulder, noting with some confusion that they had gained the upper hand on the chase. "Why have they slowed?" he inquired, the vocalized question directed in rhetoric.

"They do not know how to handle such a thing. To them, this simple weapon is black magic." Robert replied, kicking the doorway open at long last. He allowed Deanolo through the narrow passage, following quickly to barricade the doorway as best as he could for the time being. He knew it wouldn't be long before the mages managed to break down the wooden barrier; he only hoped it would stall their progress enough to allow their escape.

Meanwhile, Ellena rushed forward, aghast at the sight of the wounded man in Deanolo's arms. "Let me…" she murmured, helping Deanolo ease the man onto Impala's back. "I shall support him, you mount. And be quick about it!" she ordered, supporting the unconscious man.

Her heart leapt out to Castiel's bloody form, skin far paler than healthily possible in the day's light. She understood now why Deanolo was so in love with him; even in his gored state, the mage had a tragic beauty about him, sharp angles and fair skin. Perhaps all that looked upon him fell in love to an extent.

However her eyes drifted to the naked man's form and froze, locked on the image of the handprint seared into his right hip. It matched the one burned into Deanolo's shoulder. She gasped in realization, eyes snapping up to meet Dean's. "So it is all true…" she murmured, eyes wide. She clasped a hand to Deanolo's forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Fly, Deanolo. Return this man to safety." She murmured, passion burning in her eyes for the two lovers.

Dean nodded, mounting quickly before wrapping a strong arm around the wounded man's waist. "Stay strong. We're almost free…" he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the bruised temple. He frowned, glancing at the sight of the broken man before him.

Castiel's flesh burned with such intensity it frightened his lover terribly. The sweat pooled in crevices, the divots in his collarbones, salt stinging the already infected wounds more severely. The fever wracked his being, sending the poor mage into shock.

It took all Dean had not to cry at that instant. Even in his efforts, Castiel's being succumbed to its own devices, slipping further and further into an unfathomable void that threatened to snuff the life out of him. Dean ran a comforting hand over his lover's brow, pressing a gentle kiss in his fingers' wake to the clammy skin beneath.

His moment of solace was disrupted almost as quickly as it had begun as the remaining three humans mounted their own steeds, shouts filling the air as the magi began to break through the barrier.

"Let us move! We must get out of Enochian territory before they catch us!" Ashten shouted, galloping ahead to lead the group. He was soon followed by Ellena and Dean; Impala lagged in his step by the added weight of the second rider.

Robert brought up the rear of their little band, glancing over his shoulder to see that his barrier had been broken, too easily for his liking. "MOVE!" he shouted, hearing the familiar twang of crossbow string as they were fired upon. "WEAVE FROM THE BOLTS!"

Dean ducked low, protecting Castiel from the projectiles as he urged Impala on his crazed trip, weaving more effectively than he had the first time he dealt with the Enochians and their arrows. He smirked, watching a wayward arrow imbed itself in the ground, missing him entirely.

The group rode hard and fast stretching the distance between themselves and the Enochian strongholds with each hoof beat on the steadily barren landscape. Now outside the border of Enochian territory, they were able to break from the guard's limited hold and into freedom.

The guards in question came to a reluctant halt, watching their quarries escape. Their lack of preparation kept them bound to the limitations of their own territory, and the Enochians feel into fitful silence. They feared they had failed their mission, and all present withdrew from the eyes of Zachariah, bowing their heads in submission.

The elder mage watched the humans flee with their prisoner in tow, yet he felt no anger to his people. "Be still, my followers." He said aloud, surprising all the guards present.

Each one shared a momentary glance, confusion for this leniency strong in their eyes.

"It seems that we were not to capture them after all. For remember what our Father has bidden: all things happen for a good cause." He turned to them again, a dark smile on his lips. "Be it known that you did not fail our people. The humans may have escaped, but our traitorous brethren cost himself dearly. Brother Castiel will not live to see the morn. And once his precious mate is no longer breathing, Deanolo will realize his folly. It is only a matter of time, my people." As he spoke, he turned to reenter the borders of their land with silence.

"But sir!" one young guard called, halting Zachariah in his footsteps. "What of the boy?"

Zachariah smirked, nodding his wizen head once. "The boy. Indeed that is a question to be sought. Find him, and ensure that his traitorous actions are rewarded accordingly." He spoke as he walked, guiding his men.

"Rest now and prepare to leave our borders. Our time is drawing near."

* * *

For the first time in hours, Dean felt his heart begin to settle, but this waning adrenaline only allowed his mind to wander to the grievous state of his lover, and worry pitted his stomach once again.

"We must slow, the ride is only harming him!" he cried, his grip faltering as Castiel nearly slipped from the saddle.

Robert nodded, slowing his own steed as the group came to a stop. He watched his charge handle the near-corpse in his arms with reverence, taking in the sight. "These people have done this to their own kind… it is… unthinkable…" he spat, anger welling within him.

Dean nodded, but dared not to speak. Castiel had opened his eyes once again. "Castiel… focus on me, love." He whispered, holding him close.

Castiel groaned, curling into the warmth of Dean's arms. "Deanolo… have we succeeded…" he gasped, eyes heavy with exhaustion and blood loss.

Dean smiled weakly to his partner, brushing the dried locks from his eyes. "Yes, love. We survived their attacks and we are free. I will take you to a safe place, and you will be well again. I swear to you. But you must promise me that you will hold on as long as you possibly can on your own. When we reach a place to lay you, then we can properly help you heal."

Castiel didn't respond, a disbelieving thought in his eyes. "I cannot… I cannot guarantee anything…."

"Please… for me." Deanolo's eyes begged fervently.

The silence stretched on for another moment, before the silence was broken by the softest of grunts, surprise laden in Ashten's eyes. "My friends… I do not think… we have good news ahead." He murmured, eyes widening to the horizon before them.

At these foreboding words, the group turned their attention and dread filled their hearts.

Smoke floated to the sky, and it heralded from the location they were currently headed.

"Oh no… the Roadhouse! JOANNA!" Ellena cried, galloping hard past the others to each what she could only picture as the remains of their home. She was quickly followed by the others, the following moments a blur as panic took them over once again.

All too soon, the group came to a stop, staring in disbelief and shock at the remains before them. The Roadhouse was in complete shambles, smoke and fires burning low, wind howling through the remains like ghosts of their past crying out in the destruction. No movement caught their eyes for a moment, and Ellena wept silently for her daughter.

Dean stared in shock, his heart falling once again. The only place he could have taken his lover to mend was destroyed, everything gone. He gazed over the ruins, wide and shocked eyes scanning weakly for any sign of salvation amongst the rubble.

It was he who caught sight of the slightest of movements in the center of what had once been the tavern. "MOVEMENT! I see movement within the rubble!" he shouted, urging Impala forward slightly.

As the troupe came forth, the rubble shifted once again, and Crowley stood, clutching the terrified girl to his chest. His brow had been bloodied, his condition severely weakened, but he stood strong, his face ever the mask of dignity.

"JOANNA!" her mother cried in relief, rushing forward to take her trembling daughter into her arms. She smoothed a hand over the dirty golden locks, urging calm back into her daughter's form.

"Pamela is dead…" Crowley announced, clutching his broken ribs painfully. He turned and moved the rubble aside to reveal Charles.

He, too, was alive, but unconsciously. Below him the remains of the prophetic tapestry lay, his image complete. The other half of the prophecy was missing, along with its artist. "The prophecy is incomplete…" The Daemon added this last statement in a hushed tone, the thick silence engulfing them all. Nothing but the sounds of crackling wood fire filled their ears, the smoke thickening their air until they nearly choked.

"We must find shelter… and quickly." Robert said, breaking the silence that befell them. "There is a small town several leagues off that harbor fugitives. Their medical care is not very good, but it is the best we can do for him at this time…" he said to Dean, looking down at the too-still form of Castiel.

Dean nodded, silent as he listened. After a moment, he looked up, eyes determined. "Fetch Iofiel. He will ride most comfortably upon her. I will stay to guide him and keep him safe. Hurry. Night is falling."

As the others went about their business, preparing to find refuge in a town nearby, Dean cradled the dying mage close, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead and lips.

"I won't leave you…" he murmured, glancing up to the red sunset before him. "No matter what happens, I will be with you, Castiel. To the death."


	10. We're In This Together

Chapter 10

_**December 21, 2012**_

_**Downtown New York**_

**Approximately 4 hours before the end…**

Dean Smith shoved his way into the waiting bus, ignoring the snide remarks the other passengers shot him. He was on a tight schedule, dammit and Mr. Adler would fucking kill him if he was late again that week. He brushed off a hand on his arm, the close proximity of the jam-packed bus warming the air about him. He tugged at the collar of his shirt, already aware of the beads of sweat gather at the nape of his neck.

It had been a disturbingly balmy winter in New York that year. Meteorologists had no explanation for the intense heat that plagued them. It wasn't just New York that felt the crushing warmth. The whole country was affected, December days reaching peaks of up to 88 F across the map. For some, the dramatic change was nothing of great import; others were more uneasy about this strangely arid winter. None voiced their concerns, hoping that the odd weather would right itself in the end.

Again, Dean tugged at his collar, growling in the back of his throat as he was elbowed in the small of his back. "Back off, bitch." He hissed, glaring at the man behind him. The guy was fucking huge! He towered over Dean by a good four inches, the soft yellow polo doing nothing to hide frighteningly large biceps under the too-small sleeves. He, too, looked pissed off at the world, and glared down his nose at the man that had quite purposefully shoved himself into his limited space on the packed motor vehicle.

"Well maybe if you woulda just waited for the next fucking bus, we wouldn't be so damn packed in here, jerk!" said adversary retorted, huffing in his ignorance. Nevertheless, he took as far a step back as the close proximity would allow, burying his face in the newspaper again. A look of worry crossed his features, brows knitted together at the words splayed haphazardly across the damp paper. He ran his hand through his hair, brushing the brown locks from his soft hazel eyes.

It was no wonder everyone seemed more on edge than normal in this day and age. The newspapers said it all; blaring almost daily about the deadlock world powers had gotten themselves into. It seemed that every nuclear weapon in each arsenal was armed and ready, waiting on a hair-breadth's notice to trigger and blow the other countries away. Things had gotten bad; very bad, and everyone was terrified that the impasse would break and nukes would start flying.

Dean glanced at the paper, taking notice of the date scrawled across the top. December 21, 2012. "Fucking Mayans…" he murmured, turning his attention to the needlessly scalding hot cup of coffee in his hands. Personally, Dean didn't believe in destiny, prophecy, the lot. Yeah, the whole World War III thing was freaky as fuck, but he didn't believe that this whole thing was boiling down to a guess on an ancient stone slab some fucking Indians forgot to finish carving up. "Whatever…"

After a long, hot ride, the bus pulled up to Dean's stop, and he clambered from the interior, bounding into what he hoped was blessed open air. It was nearly as hot outside as it was in the bus; stifling humidity bearing down on him in this strange winter day. "Dammit…" he growled, lugging his briefcase towards the office tower. He glanced down at his watch and swore. Looks like he would be late after all…

* * *

**Approximately 3 hours and 7 minutes before the end…**

Sam Wesson made his way through the busy work-day throng, pressing the elevator button with a bit more force than he intended. That guy on the bus had really irked him, and the raving articles in the paper did nothing to ease his mind. It was no secret: the whole Mayan prophecy had really gotten to him and with each impending day, his anxiety grew tenfold. He only hoped that when this blessed day was over, and he woke the next morning alive and well, he'd feel incredibly stupid.

Entering the elevator, Sam closed himself inside alone, and rode the way to his designated floor in silence. He took a few calming breaths, willing himself to not fuck up his first day in the IT department. He needed a new start; after a messy break-up with his girlfriend, he moved to New York in hopes to leave everything behind and start a new career with a clear head.

He had to avert his eyes when taking the cab to his new apartment from the memorial site. Eleven years later, and it still gave him the weebies.

After an all-too short ride, Sam found his floor and made his way through the halls, gripping his portfolio in a firm hand. He schooled a calm look on his face, heedless of the crushing heat inside the office tower. '_Just because it's mid-December, doesn't mean you have to crank the fucking heat up…'_ he thought to himself, smiling brightly at the manager as he was greeted for his first day on the job.

* * *

**About 1 hour and 46 minutes before the end…**

Dean pushed himself away from his desk, rubbing at his throbbing temples with frustrated gestures. He was getting no work done fast. The whole office tower was thrumming with pent-up agitation, as if everyone were waiting for something to happen. Something bad…

"God, fucking give it a rest…" he murmured to himself, ignoring the nervous chatter of the secretaries as they passed his office. It was bad enough the weather was fucked up; now he had a migraine. It seemed the whole day was just screwed. "When nothing happens, I'm gonna tattoo 'I Told You So' on my forehead." He sighed, feeling his stomach give a protesting groan at that moment.

Deciding that he'd had enough for the morning, Dean grabbed his wallet and shucked his jacket onto the back of his seat. He closed and locked up his office, and made his way to the elevator. He'd wanted to try the new Bistro down the block anyway; why not start today? He smiled, feeling a bit better already. Now that he was moving about, he could think with a clearer head. It already seemed absurd.

But just as Dean stepped into the elevator and pressed the 'close-door' button, a hand shot in, stopping them. He looked up in time to see Big and Scary from the bus step inside the elevator. "Hey…" he murmured, feeling a blush creep up the back of his neck. He really shouldn't have snapped on the guy earlier.

The man nodded to him, turning to face the door. "Main floor right?" he asked, gesturing to the button panel. At Dean's affirmative, he pressed the button, and the two stood in companionable silence, the pings of passing floors the only sound in that quiet little haven.

After a moment, the man turned to Dean, and offered him a sheepish smile "So… sorry about earlier. I haven't quite been myself lately…" he said, holding a hand out to him. "I'm Sam. Sam Wesson."

"Dean Smith." He responded, shaking his hand firmly. "And don't worry about it. It's been a trying morning. I was running late and couldn't afford to wait for the next bus."

" I can see that now." Sam dropped off, looking straight ahead again. "… Funny weather we've been having."

"Mhm…"

Silence again filled the elevator, but this time the duration stretched just a bit farther. After a moment, Dean cleared his throat, looking up at him. "First day on the job huh…"

"Yeah."

"Awesome. Well… if you're on break now, there's this new Bistro down the street. I can give you the in's and out's of the place. Just to get you acclimated around here."

"Sounds awesome." Sam answered, a smile playing across his surprisingly puppy-like features. For a big scary brute, he was almost adorable.

Dean smirked, nudging him slightly. "To the shop, it is then…"

* * *

**Less than 45 minutes before the end… **

Sam sighed contentedly, pushing his plate away. He smirked across the table at Dean, stretching his long legs out in a comfortable position. It was strange how quickly they got along, especially after such a rough morning. It was almost as if they had known each other all their lives. "So now I got the ins and outs of the place… tell me about yourself, Dean. What else do you do besides work?"

Dean smiled, leaning back in his seat. "I work on classics for fun. Got myself a beauty of a car at home that I work on all the time. It's a 1967 Chevy Impala."

Sam gave a low whistle. "Sounds like you got yourself an awesome hobby there."

Dean nodded, crossing his arms. "What about you? There's gotta be something else you do besides geek out on a computer all day."

Sam shrugged, avoiding the question. He didn't want to admit his conspiracy theory ideas to someone he'd just met. He didn't want to go into detail about how he'd been tracking ancient prophecies for years. It was too weird a conversation starter. Besides, Dean was a straightforward guy. Even if many of the prophecies held validity, Dean wouldn't be interested in hearing them. Just from this conversation alone, Sam gathered that Dean was a "live in the present" kind of guy. Ancient predictions were of little import to him. "… actually that's kinda all I do." He admitted weakly in the end.

Dean raised an eyebrow at him, frowning slightly. The nervous response struck him as odd. Already, he could read this guy like an open book. "… you one of those doomsday followers?"

Sam looked up, slightly scandalized. "No!..." he broke off, having the decency to look sheepish. "Not really…"

Dean snorted, pressing his elbows into the table top. "'Explains the newspaper this morning. The date's probably got you all wound up, huh?"

Sam shrugged, fingering the napkin in front of him. "I don't normally follow all the hype, but… for some reason, this one's got me pretty spooked. It just… doesn't feel right." He looked up at Dean, his eyes a pleading shine. "And I don't spook easily…"

Dean sighed, reading the worry in his eyes. "Look Sam… it's… think of it this way. A lot of shit was 'predicted' that people got themselves worked up over. Granted, we got some tense situations right now with the nukes, but… we're all gonna wake up fine tomorrow morning and life's gonna go on. Just relax man." Smirking, he punched Sam lightly in the shoulder.

Sam returned the smile half-heartedly. Secretly he hoped Dean was right.

He sat up, pulling his wallet out to pay his half of the tab. "Ready to head back?" he asked, all too glad for a change in conversation.

Dean nodded, waving Sam's cash off. "I got a card. Hit me back later, and we're square, ok?"

Sam nodded, making his way over to the exit while Dean paid. As he stood by the glass doors drumming the handle in a light rhythm, he caught sight of a man in a long trench coat arguing with one of those mounted police officers. He smirked, stepping outside. He knew he shouldn't pry, but his curiosity got the better of him and he inched closer to listen in.

"Look buddy, the sign clearly says 'Thirty Minute Parking'. I've been working this street all day, and you're over the limit." The cop said, pulling his ticket book out.

Trench Coat Guy looked utterly pissed, crossing his arms defiantly over his chest. "Then your clock's off because I put a timer on my phone so I WOULDN'T go over the limit! I still have five minutes.."

"Sorry, buddy; gotta follow protocol."

Sam sighed, listening to the guy talk. He had a big mouth on him, despite the fact that Trench Coat Guy had at least two inches on him. He watched him push the visor back to expose a strand of dark brown hair hanging into his hazel eyes before grabbing his pen.

"Alright, I'll need your name and registration please."

Trench Coat Guy sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Fine… James Castiel Novak. Can I PLEASE get into my car so I can at least get the registration card and my wallet out?"

Sam lost interest in the conversation at this point, far too intrigued by the chestnut standing obediently behind the cop. The horse was gorgeous, a perfect white blaze running down its muzzle, stocking prints on its front hooves. The horse swished its tail languidly, nickering slightly at the man watching him.

Sam smiled, wanting to go over and run his fingers through the soft mane. There was no telling what would happen if he did but it still didn't suppress the child-like urge to touch; to pet the creature in investigation.

But just when he felt he would give in to the urge after all, the radio clipped to the officer's hip blared to life, a short alarm sounding. Just as quickly, the dispatcher began to shout into the walkie-talkie, catching his attention.

Both Sam and James watched in confusion as the cop scrambled to answer the incoming call, a frown marring his cheerful face. "What do you suppose is the matter?" James murmured, glancing over at Sam with a questioning head tilt.

Wouldn't he like to know as well, Sam thought, turning to face the guy. "I have no clue…"

As he spoke, he heard a bell jingle behind him, the Bistro door swinging open forcefully. In the doorway stood Dean and he looked absolutely terrified.

"Sam! Get in here!" he shouted, waving them inside. As the two entered, he pointed to the Bistro television, his face paling at the images thrown up on the screen.

Already, patrons were crowding the counter, watching fearfully as a National Crisis watch flashed up on the screen. The anchor had a hard look on his face, but the nervous murmuring of the crowd drowned out his words effectively cutting off any hopes of enlightenment at this point.

"What happened?" Sam asked, glancing at his terrified co-worker. Panic gnawed at his insides, watching as the news anchor continued to speak to the camera and all subsequent watchers.

"The Stalemate's over… Iran fired the first shot." Dean murmured, his own voice betraying his worry. Hard, cold eyes remained glued to the screen before them, taking in as much information as he could over the growing roar of alarm in the Bistro.

The color drained from Sam's face at the news, words stuttering from half-numb lips. "B-But… that-that means…"

Across the screen the National Crisis logo flashed one last time, a short siren blast echoing from the tiny speakers. Everyone fell silent, watching in horror as the logo changed before their eyes.

Global Crisis. It was full out war.

"Shit…" Dean breathed, his heart plummeting in terror. In horrifying realization, the world came to a momentary stand still. All the nuclear weapons that had been ready at a hair-trigger had been detonated in less than five minutes. The two year stand still the world had been holding its breath for came to a sudden and shocking end with the press of a button.

"_Seek shelter immediately! I repeat, seek shelter IMMEDIATELY!"_

With those eight simple words, all hell broke loose. Screams of terror filled the air, people shoving and running; looking for shelter that would offer no more protection than their current position within the flimsy walls of a corner eatery.

Dean and the man named James turned to flee as well, but James stopped, turning back for a moment. "Come on let's GO!" he shouted to Sam, grabbing his elbow in a vice like grip.

"It's happening… oh my God, it's actually happening…" Sam murmured, shock rooting him to the spot. His eyes never left the television, warnings flashing across the faded screen before going black, snow static dancing erratically before his eyes.

"Sam, we don't have time for this shit, let's MOVE!" Dean screamed, dragging Sam with James at his side towards the already crowded streets before them.

Outside, the cop from earlier found himself surrounded by a throng of frightened New Yorkers, seeking any sort of comfort for the impending disaster.

"Just get to any kind of shelter! HURRY! The missiles have been aimed at every major city in the world, and we're one of them. Just get to a fucking shelter NOW!" he shouted, dislodging a woman from his arm with great exertion. She began to sob hysterically at this action, but her companions dragged her off, running for their very lives.

Behind the officer, the chestnut horse brayed and bucked frantically, eyes rolling as the horse whinnied in fright of the commotion. The cop turned, offering a comforting hand on the horse's blaze. He looked up to the skies, as if to look for the impending missiles before they struck. Eyes narrowed to the reddened skies, he heard it; the faint, discernable sounds of whistling, hissing speed of an impending missile cutting through the clear skies towards impact.

"Fuck!" he cried, grabbing the reins in a shaking fist. Mounting, he took off at break neck speed, threading his way through the thronging crowds. Screaming missiles, shouts and cries of the people filled his dread-addled mind as the instinct for flight took over any other coherent thought.

As they fled, Dean felt a jostle to his side, throwing him off balance. He toppled over a fallen bicycle, landing hard on the unforgiving ground below him. His jaw connected heavily with the pavement, splitting his chin wide open in a spray of blood on the ground. He struggled to get to his feet again, but his limbs felt heavy, clumsy in his efforts. He heard the sound of the missiles growing closer and he squeezed his eyes shut, tears running down his dirtied cheeks. "Oh God, oh god!" he whimpered, preparing for the blast that would lay him to his untimely death.

He wasn't prepared for the hand that gripped him tight and lifted him from the ground. He yelped in pain, fingertips digging hard enough into his flesh to bruise. But his fears banished the moment he opened his eyes.

Before him stood the man from earlier, bright blue eyes locked on him as James dragged him along. Dean found himself momentarily stunned by the sight, lost in a sea of soft azure. For just a moment his heart stilled, forgetting the onslaught from the skies.

"Hurry!" James shouted, dragging the dazed man behind. They needed to find shelter and quickly. As James ran, he spied an ammunition shop to their right, stopping in the middle of the streaming people around him. "There!" With a shove, he forced Dean to make his way over to the ammunition shop, turning back in search of the tall one from the Bistro.

It didn't take long to find him. There, on the other side of the street, Sam stood frozen, watching in horror as the missiles finally came in sight. A split second of thought had him turn the opposite direction from his shelter, shoved and tripped around in the middle of the car-strewn street.

Dean slammed into the door of the shop, whipping around to seek out his friend. He lost him in the shuffle, and he began to panic, looking for that familiar face. Instead, he caught sight of the cop, and screaming to him, began waving his arms frantically. "OVER HERE! THERE'S A SHELTER HERE!" he shouted, hoping anyone would listen to him. He would be damned if he didn't help SOMEONE escape the impact.

The cop whipped around in the saddle, seeing the man by the ammo shop. A stroke of genius, it seemed, and he urged his mount onward, guiding him over to the store front. "Get inside!" he yelled to Dean, dismounting quickly. As he shoved the suited man through the door, he guided the equine through the narrow passage, whispering calming words to the frightened creature. "Get in as far as you can!"

"GODDAMN IT, MAN! LEAVE THE FUCKING HORSE OUTSIDE!" Dean raged, surprised by the pressing heat of the animal at his back. The shop was relatively small, and the presence of the huge beast would only lessen the number of people able to fit in its small quarters.

"FUCK YOU, I AIN'T LEAVING HIM OUT THERE!" the officer retaliated, irrationality winning out over the practicality of space. As he shoved the animal inside, he turned to look for the other two, hoping anyone else would see the makeshift shelter before their eyes.

"Shit… they're still outside!" he panted, turning to Dean. True enough, they could see Sam rooted to the spot, frozen in shock. At his side, James stood, yelling and pulling at his arm in vain. The larger man was just not easy enough to move from his rooted position.

"C'mon.. Sammy, move…" Dean urged quietly. The very world seemed to pause in anticipation, sounds drowning out in the throbbing, pulsing sounds of his pulse ringing in his ears.

He didn't hear the impact of the missiles, but he sure as fuck felt it.

The ground rocked with the impact, throwing him from his feet. He heard the shrieking whinny of the horse behind him and the surprised outcry from the cop before the shockwave hit. The very waves of the convulsion nearly deafened Dean as he clamped his hands over his ears in agony. He didn't know for sure, but he thought he felt the warm pulse of blood on his palms, still clasped tightly over his ears.

Struggling to sit up, he looked out to see the sky painted in angry red hues. A massive fireball glowed in the distance, growing closer in frightening speed. "FUCK!" Dean screamed, ducking back into the shop. WHERE THE FUCK WAS SAM AND JAMES?

As he prepared to lock himself and the cop into the confines of the windowless shelter, he saw it: the two men running for the door in hopes of outrunning the veritable hellfire behind them.

"GO, GO, GO!" James cried, shoving Sam in front of him. He felt the growing heat behind him, singeing his hair, the frayed edges of his trench. Sam would at least beat the most of the blaze…

With a mighty effort, he dove, shoving Sam into the doorway before toppling in behind him. Just as he landed, the blaze reached their position, battling the titanic shove Dean forced on the heavy door. Flames licked at James' coat. His clothes went up into flames, engulfing him almost instantly. James screamed in agony, writhing under the torturous flames he so desperately tried to put out with his own efforts.

"GODDAMN IT!" the cop yelped, grabbing the nearest fire blanket he could find and throwing it over the writhing man on the floor. He wrestled him into his arms, dousing the flames as quickly as he could. He only hoped no damaged had been done…

Dean struggled against the blaze to keep the door closed under the sheer weight of the explosion. He felt the hinges shiver and quake, the inferno seemingly fighting against his will. "SAM, HELP ME!" he screamed. His hands scorched under the white hot metal, the sounds near deafening. With relief, he felt a second pair of hands grab the knob, the two men pinning the door shut.

The explosion dragged on for what felt like ages; ages of a hell on earth trying so desperately to consume its intended victims within the gun shop. Dean cried out under the exertion, giving one final shove with his shoulder against the door. He only hoped his last effort would be enough to ride out the blast.

Finally, FINALLY, the roared died down to near silence. The door ceased shaking, but the heat continued to flare, the metal practically glowing in their scalded hands. Dean ripped his hands away with a hiss of pain, glancing at the angry red burns on his palms. He looked up at Sam, and winced to see the taller man's skin. It was dark red, almost sun burnt in nature.

"Sam… you ok?" Dean panted, leaning over to press his ruined hands to his knees in support. Sweat beaded on his brow, the intense heat of the room almost overbearing.

"Yeah… I think…" Sam murmured, his reply hesitant. Silence once again filled the air, enveloping them all. "Should we… go outside?"

"Hell fucking no…" Dean answered too quickly, looking up at him with disdained surprise. "No FUCKING way I'm going out there… we just barely made it alive."

"Barely's right…"

Both Sam and Dean turned to the source of those words, watching the cop. He knelt over the prone figure, a new sense of horror streaking across his sweat-laden face. "I think we have a problem…"

Dean instantly dropped to his knees, pulling the fire-blanket away from the scorched victim lying on the floor. The trench coat was blackened, flaking cloth falling about James as he curled in on himself. He moaned in pain, twitching sporadically.

"Shit…" Dean breathed, pulling what remained of the trench coat and the blanket away from his slight frame. Small, pus-leaking blisters formed on his arms and over his right eye a vicious, bloody gash tore the tender flesh, oozing down the side of his face. But the worst of his injuries marred the once smooth skin on his back. Now the skin was bubbled and charred, pock-marked and leaking with blood and water. The burns had eaten away at most of the skin, exposing flesh that should never see the light of day.

Dean swallowed hard, urging his gag reflex back down with effort. He reached out to stroke a gentle hand down James' arm, urging him to make eye contact. "Hey.. hey look at me…"

James looked up at the man before him, his eyes glazed over in the overwhelming pain. "… d-did… we…" He gasped, trying to speak. The sheer effort of expanding his lungs enough to make a sound brought him into a fit of coughing, the jarring motions a cycled reaction of pain, choking on his own words."

"Shh… it's ok. Don't talk. You're gonna be ok." Dean promised, wishing he could believe the words himself. He didn't miss the grateful smile James offered, taking his hand in his own. "We're all here. We're in this together."

James nodded, squeezing his hand gently. "I know…"

Outside, the world burned, ravaging the landscape and wiping out the last of humankind's achievements; destroying everything that had once made their world so great. But inside, in this small sanctuary, the four of them plus one horse remained alive, sustaining mankind within their four small walls.

At least for a little while longer…

* * *

TBC...


	11. Fallout

Chapter 11

* * *

Dean woke to the distant sounds of retching in the background. Shivers wracked his body in a wave he could only assume came from the cool floor on his fevered skin. He sat up, feeling a sense of disorientation flood his person. Where was he? Why did he ache all over? And who was this person laying next to him? Dean felt as if he was lost in the labyrinth of a hazy dream, the smell of charred flesh and decay thick in his nostrils. Glancing down at the still form at his side, he blinked as memories began to flood into his subconscious, agonizingly slow and painful.

James. The poor sap was curled on his side, lying half comatose on the dirty floor of a gun shop, one of the last few buildings standing after the nuclear fallout. Like a flash, Dean came back to himself, crawling around the prone figure to check the burns he suddenly remembered in vivid clarity. He reached out, wincing in pain as the burns on his own palms split open, weeping yellowed puss onto the floor below him. "Shit…" he croaked, cradling his hands against his chest. His clothing was absolutely filthy, the remains of his suit almost in tatters.

Dean glanced down at James- or Cas as he had come to call him- with gnawing worry in his mind. He remembered this, now. He remembered the reasoning for his seemingly pertinent nickname for the man he'd spent a week lying next to every night of their dying days. During one of his lucid moments, he and Dean had gotten into an inane conversation regarding his odd middle name. After hearing its origin, Dean had latched onto the biblical reference, hoping in the back of his mind to seek some sort of reassurance from the devastation they should not have lived through. Of course his addled mind had a hard time remembering the proper pronunciation and had received the short end of James's patience for the slip up. Consequently, he shortened the name to something more feasible for him to remember, and thus the nickname "Cas" was born.

Now, Dean watched the unconscious man lay before him, the burns having not healed once in their stay. Every small movement caused the blisters to burst, thin filaments of new skin ripping and bleeding onto the disgusting floor. Dean eyed the burns, noting their odd placement. What a way for them to form; two huge patches stretching from Castiel's shoulders down his back, leaving a strip of bare skin completely unscathed in the middle…

"Cas…" Dean whispered, touching his shoulder gently. "Cas wake up…"

Cas stirred slightly, a choked moan cracking from unused vocal chords. He shifted, hissing in pain. "D-Dean?" Cas moved to sit up, crying out in agony.

"Shh! It's ok. I'm here…" he soothed, offering what little comfort he could. He lay next to Cas, putting an arm around his quaking form. "I'm here…"

"Dean… w-where have the others gone?" Cas inquired, unable to hide the tremors in his voice. He shivered again, coughing painfully at the difficulty his nearly collapsed lungs worked his breathing.

Dean shrugged, glancing over his shoulder. "I dunno… I think Gabe went to find provisions. Sam… he's…" he trailed off, hearing the dreadful retching again. "Being sick…" he finished in a skeptical tone.

Cas blinked, using Dean to shift his position. "You don't suppose he's…" he broke off in another pained whimper, blisters flowing anew.

"Goddammit Cas, stay still!" Dean snapped, hating himself for his shortened temper. The events of the past week had weighed sorely on them all; anger a constant fluctuating emotion amongst the small group. The only one posed enough to remain calm lay before Dean, dying a slow painful death in his arms.

Dean's eyes scanned the lithe form beneath him, taking in the sights. Despite the horrid burns on his back and the swollen, infected laceration over his right eye, the soft face held a sort of tragic beauty that Dean could not place on any of his past partners. Even in the direst of situations, Dean felt comfortable around this man, content to hold him and offer what affection he had left in his traumatized heart.

The two lay silent together on the floor, wishing that they had even the slightest glimpse of sunlight to brighten the drab room. All around them, bullet shells and casings littered the dusty floor, a ratty blanket the only material separating them from the thinly carpeted concrete. Even the intense heat of the past blaze had scorched the material under them.

After moments of peace, Dean sat up again, deciding it would be best to check on the sick man in the other room. "Cas.. you gonna be ok while I go check on Sam?" he asked, hoping he didn't betray the inbred worry in his tone.

With a mighty effort, Cas managed to nod, offering up a smile. It broke Dean's heart to see him trying so hard to remain positive in such a dire situation, and he admired his efforts. It brought him a little peace to know that one of them at least was trying to find the silver lining in his hell hole.

With his affirmative, Dean rose and strode from the room, leaving the dark sanctuary of the back storage closet. As he thought, Gabriel was nowhere to be found, the door unlocked and barely closed. He supposed there was no need to lock it… not like anyone else out there was going to break in and steal…

Steal what? Nothing. They had absolutely NOTHING left in this world. They were just a broken fellowship of survivors in a world that had literally burnt itself to the ground. But now, as he stood in the center of the main room, he felt the air wrap around him in an icy shroud, flecks of white fluttering in through the crack in the door with another frigid gust of wind. Cold… so cold. Why was it so cold?

Curiosity finally won over his initial thought of seeking out Sam as he slowly made his way to the door. He had to see what the world looked like out there. After a week of imprisonment in the gun shop, he needed to see the outside world, even as decayed and broken as he surmised it was.

Dean reached for the door handle, his fingers pausing mere inches from the blackened metal. A sudden pang of terror shot through his heart, tremors wracking his being at the thought of what he was going to see out there. Would he see innumerable corpses, rigid in the new temperament of the landscape? Would there be a blanket of ashes strewn everywhere on the blood stained earth and concrete like some sick parody of snowdrifts? The thought almost had him scurrying back to the relatively safe confines of the shop, but…

No. He'd come this far. He's suffered this much. He had to know. He just had to.

So willing himself to suck up his fears, he pulled the door open, letting the wind blow against his feverish skin full force. The moment Dean opened the door, his fears came true, eyes widening as he took in the sights of the world he'd almost forgotten about a week prior.

He hadn't been wrong about the drifts of white. Tiny flecks of ashy white powder fell from a dark, smoke covered sky. Another gust of wind hit him and he shivered violently, braving a few steps out of the confines of the gun shop and into a bleak, post-apocalyptic world. Within moments, he was nearly covered in the white dust, bits gathering in his singed hair, and collecting in the folds of what remained of his clothing.

But when he felt the powder, it shocked him to feel that it was not as cold as the air around him. It smudged in his fingertips, blackening his skin where he rubbed his fingertips together.

It wasn't snowdrifts he was looking at. Everything was indeed covered in ashes, bleached white from the intense heat and collecting everywhere it fell from a sooty sky.

Dean glanced back up at the darkened skies above him, eyes narrowing in contempt. Fuck their lives… they weren't going out in a blaze of glory after all. They got to die slowly, while the rest of the world had perished within moments. Fuck the other "survivors" that MIGHT be out there. This was his time to hate the world, cursing it for the fucked up way it had to end; cursing men for their trivial arguments over oil and religion. Look where the fuck it got them.

A scorched earth with four men and a horse slowly starving to death in an ammunition store, choking on ashes and God know what else. God damn, even the sun looked pitiful, trying to shine its way through a barrier of soot down to the earth below in an attempt to warm and bring life to a planet that probably would never thrive again. A fucking travesty…

Dean dwelled on his anger for a few moments longer before turning back to the interior of the gun shop. Fuck moping about this. He had people dying in there. He couldn't ever guarantee that they would survive for long, but…

He could do something about helping them for the time being. And he was damned if he gave up on that now.

* * *

He'd figured searching for supplies was going to be hard, but Gabriel had thought he could make SOME sort of progress, what being one of four survivors left in the city. It wasn't like there were many looters left after all.

But the blaze had seared everything in sight. Not a thing in this city had gone untouched by the explosion, incinerated by the intense heat. Food, water, medical supplies; it was all just gone, up in smoke, blazed to nothing but ashes and char marks.

He'd managed to pilfer a few canned items from the local drug store, and what few remaining bandages locked away in a Walgreen's safe became his as he stuffed a dirty canvas bag with his looted supplies. Gabriel honestly wasn't sure if six cans of beans and processed meat would be enough to sustain four grown men. They'd just have to make due until they could gather some strength and search again.

As for his beloved horse. The equine was on the last leg of his life, left to limp on a leg half rotten with gangrene and protruding broken ribs. Having been forced through the narrow doorway, several ribs had been cracked and separated, offering labored breathing and deep chested pain which rendered the horse unable to neither carry a thing nor wander far from the shop. Gabriel knew the horse was ready to die at any moment, but even the thought of making due with whatever good meat remained sickened him to the core. He'd grown to love that horse more than anything in his life. More than a family he'd abandoned to live as he saw fit. More than his closest "friends".

Gabriel knew his irrational obsession with the horse was causing more trouble than good, but every time he tried to see the rationale of his surviving companions, that wild obsession took hold and choked him back into obstinacy. He felt they were lucky he'd even agreed to search for food for their "sorry asses" at all. Of course, part of his willingness to leave the shelter branched from his inability to watch his beloved equine die if today be that day the rotten flesh took his partner.

"Motherfucker…" he hissed, kicking rubble to the side in hopes to find anything useable in a destroyed convenience store. Oh good, he'd managed to find one half decent packet of Swedish Fish… how helpful… Scooping up the packet anyway, he tossed it into his satchel turning to crawl his way back through the filled doorway.

What he didn't anticipate was seeing anyone standing just on the other side.

"FUCK!" he yelped, dripping in his surprise and tumbling down the hill of brick and concrete before crumpling at the bottom with a crunch and a string of profanity. Damn his nerves… shot to all hell. "What the fuck, why are you sneaking up on me?" he demanded looking up at the stranger. That was when he finally noticed exactly how… small said stranger was…

The boy that stood before Gabriel couldn't have been much older than 7 years old, his tousled blonde hair covered in ash, and his black clothes torn and filthy. Clear tracks ran down his cheeks, washing away the dirty on his face from where his tears fell, and his shoulders hitched and shook. Almost immediately, Gabriel softened and stood up, examining the boy closer. Other than looking dirty and scared, he was untouched, much to his relief and chagrin.

Great, he thought to himself. Yet another mouth to fail feeding. How in God's name did a little boy survive with only some torn clothing when grown men were struggling to see tomorrow?

"Hey kid, how'd you get here?" he asked, dropping to one knee before the sobbing boy. He tentatively reached out and took his shoulders in his hands, stopping his movements firmly. "And don't cry, I don't like watching people cry…" he added, softer yet.

The boy simply sniffled in response, shaking his head before leaning into Gabriel's touch. "I-I don't know I… woke up like this…" he said quietly, his soft, almost angelic voice sending chills up the officer's spine. He locked eyes with Gabriel for a moment before lifting a tiny hand to his face, wiping away more tears with the dirty sleeve of his shirt. "What happened… where is everyone?"

At his pathetic inquiries, Gabriel swallowed, unsure of what to tell him. "Well kiddo, a lot of shi-.. bad stuff happened. I don't know where everyone is… but…" he sighed, knowing he'd regret this decision later. "I got a couple of friends back at the gun shop… if you need a place to sleep tonight, I think we can spare a corner… just so you don't freeze tonight."

After a long moment's contemplation, the boy nodded, and immediately slipped his hand into Gabriel's. "Ok…" he said quietly, looking up at him with a weak smile on his grimy face. "Thank you Gabriel…"

Gabriel smiled, standing up and walking with the boy back to the ammunition shop. Thoughts of him bringing home a kid over supplies ran through his head. Oh, he could hear the three ripping him a new one for that… not like he cared what they thought anyway. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't pay attention to the boy's knowledge of his first name. Somewhere in the exhausted recesses of his mind, the question of "did I even introduce myself", echoed forgotten and died just as quickly, leaving the two to walk back to the ammunition shop together in silence…

* * *

TBC…

(hooooooly crap dudes, I cant believe i disappeared for a year on this story! Hopefully Ill be back to updating much more often than that! Please forgive me and accept this new chapter as an apology...)


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